I've been debating whether or not to reveal any script details, but in the interest of raising this blog's value to me (in the future), I might as well try and parse some of it out...
To help you better understand my work (in its current form), I have to go into some key ideas that I've been tossing around for a while. One thing I've been struggling with is the depiction of emotion in film, the depth to which actors have to plumb in order to approximate realistic responses in a given fictional setting. While many of them try to submerge themselves in their characters (which I feel is the only way to go about the business), the whole process is a sham, however effective or moving the results might be. So I started working on a documentary where I would pick unsuspecting subjects to interrogate, ask them increasingly disconcerting questions, and let the camera catch the wide range of emotions that would play out, along with whatever valid responses I could extract from the debacle. I assumed I would have to interview my own friends, as that light layer of intimacy affords me more information about their habits, personalities, world-views, whatever (as opposed to having to construct a generic set of questions for a stranger). My intention was to "break" their comfortable hold on reality for a few minutes, release whatever monsters I could find in their subconscious (such a simple task), and let the friendships recuperate (or not) in the aftermath. I suppose that means I was (and still am) willing to give up on those friendships, on the off chance that things did not work out, for the sake of art. Not only that, the entire interview would have to be accomplished in a single take, as I doubt any of them would be willing to start over if a mistake was made during shooting (and even if they were, the element of surprise would be lost). Simply put, I wanted to touch on something pure, something horrid, something that I feel is lacking in film (probably the only medium that affords the artist a chance to capture such insight into humanity).
The problem was that I wasn't able to turn that simple idea into something coherent. I didn't just want two hours of interviews, I wanted to explore the reasons behind the reasons. I wanted to understand my point of view more fully, so I tabled the idea and started waiting for inspiration. I've been waiting ever since. Eventually, I gave up, and tried moving in other, more generic, directions. Aside from my GREAT idea, I wanted to explore another, simpler one: the notion of the artist, held firm by his/her own humanity. I've always believed that art (in any form) strives at the human psyche from an entirely different reality. How it's something removed from, yet intrinsically tied to, human existence. That's why I have to roll my eyes when I hear mention of "intellectual property" or "artists' rights". Any work of art, by its very definition, is immediately divested of its creator, floating freely in a strange, undulating ocean of creative expression, for all of humanity to examine. Whether repulsed, stricken, moved, the audience is brought to bear against an enormity they hate to truly consider, solely because its complexity and beauty dwarf any other pursuit of man. And while aspects of it do become tainted by greed, marketing, what have you, the concept of art, as creation from nothing, can never be tarnished. What amazes me most is how easily anyone can contribute to this blinding, chaotic tapestry, and how rarely it's done well.
Know the sublime and bare it to the world...
Anyway (oh yes, I rant like that all the time), I wanted to show how the inner artist fights a losing battle all his life. I myself am constantly lost in a creative funk, never exploring my ideas fully for fear of how derivative they seem. Not to mention the external pressures of wanting to pursue the role of an artist in a world built around a devotion to money and property. So this became the new focus of my movie: a study of the failed artist, society's lost cause, abandoned by the world he has come to abhor, yet cannot do without. But what would be the crux? I obsessed over this for weeks until I hit on it. I've now incorporated my original documentary into the mix, turning my movie into a fictional "biopic". Elements of the absurd and surreal abound, of course (I'll try to go into more detail in future posts). Blame such idiosyncrasies on my devotion to the works of Lynch, Cronenberg, Jarmusch, Fellini, et al. But underneath all the window dressing is a story of destruction, a story that is fundamentally mine. In the movie, my character, who is never seen fully on camera (which in turn switches from a third-person to first-person view intermittently), attempts to create the aforementioned documentary while suffering from the same sort of block that has plagued me for so long. "Scenes" from the documentary will be shown, which will be actual interviews I conduct in the vein mentioned above (so the movie telescopes into a never-ending tunnel of truth and fiction). The camera represents me as the artist (the one who cannot build from anything other than what he knows as a film "student") as my character represents all that is left of my human self. The movie progresses as he interacts with those around him in an extremely caustic manner, essentially working toward a complete separation from all things, while simultaneously editing his documentary into oblivion. Much of the film will be extremely somber and empty, devoid of dialogue, music, and shot in muted color schemes. While the brunt of the story relies on human interaction (or the lack thereof), I will also attempt to study the influence the film has on the reality it creates for the audience.
In short, a masterpiece that may become too complex for me to handle on my own...
To help you better understand my work (in its current form), I have to go into some key ideas that I've been tossing around for a while. One thing I've been struggling with is the depiction of emotion in film, the depth to which actors have to plumb in order to approximate realistic responses in a given fictional setting. While many of them try to submerge themselves in their characters (which I feel is the only way to go about the business), the whole process is a sham, however effective or moving the results might be. So I started working on a documentary where I would pick unsuspecting subjects to interrogate, ask them increasingly disconcerting questions, and let the camera catch the wide range of emotions that would play out, along with whatever valid responses I could extract from the debacle. I assumed I would have to interview my own friends, as that light layer of intimacy affords me more information about their habits, personalities, world-views, whatever (as opposed to having to construct a generic set of questions for a stranger). My intention was to "break" their comfortable hold on reality for a few minutes, release whatever monsters I could find in their subconscious (such a simple task), and let the friendships recuperate (or not) in the aftermath. I suppose that means I was (and still am) willing to give up on those friendships, on the off chance that things did not work out, for the sake of art. Not only that, the entire interview would have to be accomplished in a single take, as I doubt any of them would be willing to start over if a mistake was made during shooting (and even if they were, the element of surprise would be lost). Simply put, I wanted to touch on something pure, something horrid, something that I feel is lacking in film (probably the only medium that affords the artist a chance to capture such insight into humanity).
The problem was that I wasn't able to turn that simple idea into something coherent. I didn't just want two hours of interviews, I wanted to explore the reasons behind the reasons. I wanted to understand my point of view more fully, so I tabled the idea and started waiting for inspiration. I've been waiting ever since. Eventually, I gave up, and tried moving in other, more generic, directions. Aside from my GREAT idea, I wanted to explore another, simpler one: the notion of the artist, held firm by his/her own humanity. I've always believed that art (in any form) strives at the human psyche from an entirely different reality. How it's something removed from, yet intrinsically tied to, human existence. That's why I have to roll my eyes when I hear mention of "intellectual property" or "artists' rights". Any work of art, by its very definition, is immediately divested of its creator, floating freely in a strange, undulating ocean of creative expression, for all of humanity to examine. Whether repulsed, stricken, moved, the audience is brought to bear against an enormity they hate to truly consider, solely because its complexity and beauty dwarf any other pursuit of man. And while aspects of it do become tainted by greed, marketing, what have you, the concept of art, as creation from nothing, can never be tarnished. What amazes me most is how easily anyone can contribute to this blinding, chaotic tapestry, and how rarely it's done well.
Know the sublime and bare it to the world...
Anyway (oh yes, I rant like that all the time), I wanted to show how the inner artist fights a losing battle all his life. I myself am constantly lost in a creative funk, never exploring my ideas fully for fear of how derivative they seem. Not to mention the external pressures of wanting to pursue the role of an artist in a world built around a devotion to money and property. So this became the new focus of my movie: a study of the failed artist, society's lost cause, abandoned by the world he has come to abhor, yet cannot do without. But what would be the crux? I obsessed over this for weeks until I hit on it. I've now incorporated my original documentary into the mix, turning my movie into a fictional "biopic". Elements of the absurd and surreal abound, of course (I'll try to go into more detail in future posts). Blame such idiosyncrasies on my devotion to the works of Lynch, Cronenberg, Jarmusch, Fellini, et al. But underneath all the window dressing is a story of destruction, a story that is fundamentally mine. In the movie, my character, who is never seen fully on camera (which in turn switches from a third-person to first-person view intermittently), attempts to create the aforementioned documentary while suffering from the same sort of block that has plagued me for so long. "Scenes" from the documentary will be shown, which will be actual interviews I conduct in the vein mentioned above (so the movie telescopes into a never-ending tunnel of truth and fiction). The camera represents me as the artist (the one who cannot build from anything other than what he knows as a film "student") as my character represents all that is left of my human self. The movie progresses as he interacts with those around him in an extremely caustic manner, essentially working toward a complete separation from all things, while simultaneously editing his documentary into oblivion. Much of the film will be extremely somber and empty, devoid of dialogue, music, and shot in muted color schemes. While the brunt of the story relies on human interaction (or the lack thereof), I will also attempt to study the influence the film has on the reality it creates for the audience.
In short, a masterpiece that may become too complex for me to handle on my own...
