Shame on you! I am not writing this to skewer a film or a director. That is neither my nature, nor my intent. So, as you read, if you feel I'm skewering, keep in mind that I have a deep respect for you, for film-making and film-makers, and I understand that I am completely green in big-budget deals with big budget casts, and directors who lose a bit of control on a project that they, initially, looked forward to touting in a new direction, bolstering the directional shifts they have built. Sometimes it works, sometimes, it becomes that shark in the water, and you are on that board, jumping away. I get it.
And that's what I understood from A Dangerous Method. I was lucky and excited to see the premiere tonight, thanks to a dear friend. I appreciated that, as the prospect of the film(as I always adore you for making films) was introduced, you affably(in tone) made apologies for the cast not being in attendance(an apology with a touch of privileged rancor that raised my eyebrows, but I don't attend premieres often, and certainly would not judge if the cast were not in attendance. I assume they are working.), So it began oddly. Twice the cast were admonished in apology that didn't seem like an apology. It was weird. Introductions always are, and you went on to say that the crux of this film is in the letters, as the original email, and that letters would be written in the morning, then responded to by the afternoon. Which, given distance, didn't make sense, but I got where you were going, and that you "weren't able to let these 5 characters die," despite the fact that the Freud/Jung/Sabine story is well known. That statement, in retrospect, should have been the first clue. But, again, I was honored to be there, and introductions to a new piece are always awkward. And it's Cronenberg, I both expect and revel in that awkwardness. Good things always ensue.
And so, the film began, only to clarify, right away, that this is no film. Perhaps it began that way- an exploration and expansion from a stage script, into a screenplay, known history, and all of that good stuff that has been explored for ages in multiple ways- Freud, Jung, psychotherapy,wellness, mania . My favorite exploration still lies with Erin Harper and Kate Hawley's interdisciplinary piece "Hysteria," back in the early days of Striding Lion in Chicago. No new territory for me, here. It's all documented with an expanse of interpretation. I was intrigued to see how it would unfold in this format. I was looking forward to a film.
Perhaps this was naive of me. I expected a film, and got a movie. That's fine. It also indicates that something was lost in the long line of producers, funding, bullshit and whatever else. Upon considering the whole of it, I'm wondering if the cast did not attend, not for busy schedules or lack of interest, but for not supporting a movie that they had expected to be a film, as well. Perhaps I'm giving them more credit than is due, but having none of the ensemble cast showing up for the premiere speaks volumes to me, after the fact. David Cronenberg, you are notorious for your unapologetic perspective, and revered for your horror history. To have the opportunity to work as an ensemble cast on a history as stringent, documented and notorious as the Freud/Jung/hysteria, directed by you- a dream!
And all of the actors worked their asses off. The performances were solidly based, but the focus of the piece was skewed and therefore hard to watch. I would have liked to appreciate Keira Knightley's performance, as she was working so hard and we don't get to see her acting often, but it was hard to watch, mainly because she is so painfully thin, and the sequences with her throughout the movie were filmed in an enlongated manner, despite the fact that her performance was intentionally grotesque. That is not fair. Note to directors: actors, unless you're the dude who played Angel in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, want to act, which was clearly her compulsion. She is a thin lady to begin with, but her weight loss for this film was jarring and uncomfortable. I am not faulting her for this, as given the same project, the physique is the same as I would have chosen, but as a viewer, and an actor, the expanse of the film showed no change, either in wardrobe or editing, to take into account that her character evolved. That is both a problem and concern and an exploitation of what she gave to you. I don't mind that there was no aging in the expanse of years that were covered here, when it came to Freud and Jung. That can make sense and be forgiven. However, particularly with the female characters, who are depended upon to shift and change, both emotionally and physically in the vast wasteland of the world explored... One was completely ignored, the other completely exploited. I couldn't even watch the movie as a whole. I was fuming. I couldn't pick up the humor, the stark themes or the sentiment. They were muddled, jumbled, and trying too hard to be proposed as clear, with at least one cast member dangerously dying before our eyes. And that wasn't in the script.
I left this movie not thinking about the movie, but angry that a director I have so appreciated could care so little about his cast and his work to allow it to be presented in this form. Sure- there are funny moments. You always have them. Yes, there are some catch phrases and gorgeous images. Costumes are intricate and beautiful. But care about your cast, as well. If the film you intended is not ready, don't just put out the movie yet, David Cronenberg. Take your time. You deserve it. So do we. And, yes, if there is a pompous line in you that insists that your actors were lucky to work with you, and you're annoyed they didn't show up- that is founded... but anyone watching your movie tonight is less concerned about your annoyance and more concerned about your lead actress being healthy. That concern is all physical imagery, not script, and perhaps something to put into your toolbox, because she's about to enter a world of hollywood tabloid hurt on her physical stature, which will override the fact that she worked really hard to act for you.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
I went to the Emmy's! And a year has slid by
At a pace that seems absurd and appropriate to the speed at which my mac-addled iphoto loaded my "smart-phone" photos in a 30 second slideshow. I'm not trying to be ironic, nor am I trying to be poetic or hipster. Holy fuck. I haven't written, bloggety style, since February. Again, not for lack of wanting to write, or having things to write about. Perhaps for having things upon which to follow through. To take a time of respite, as my dear, peace resting Jason Francis used to encourage me to do when we were actors in our 20's, trying to figure the world out. I had flashes of recognition and pride in the significant montage that began so simply so I could have some photos for this entry. And, now... I'm trying to write... After a a long respite. Pardon my rust.
I went to the 63rd Emmy awards as proud arm candy for my sweet boy. This was his second nomination with American Idol, and they were poised to win, after a season unlike any other in a long while. Reality television is a red-headed stepchild in the Emmy's, and I understand why in the awards show circuit. Hell, I'm a performance artist rooted in theatre and spectacle. I haven't paid attention to the Emmy's, Oscars, Golden Globes,or any of it, unless Sarah Parker is throwing her fantastic party. And only Sarah Parker. In Chicago. With her homemade buckeyes, fantastic lifelong friends, and specificity to the event that ends up in the Gilder, and a cab ride home. Girl puts on an event that rivals the reality. and wins. That's Chicago. That's Sarah Parker. She watches the Emmy's, maybe, but she holds her fire for the Oscars. In any accolade situation, you adhere to what you hold most dear. That's nature. How funny to be out here, one week to the year that I arrived in Los Angeles, at the Emmy's, an esteemed punctuation to Sarah's passion, and to do so as a guest of a wonderful and deserved nominee. I would take this time to gush about him and his work, but I will refrain for the simple respect I hold for him. American Idol had a great season. again, they were poised to win. I know he was terrified and excited. I was arm candy, and happy to play with costumes and humor. There were two things I openly wanted from the evening: 1) That he'd win his statue and have the acnowledgement of his tireless work 2)to hang out with Martha Plimpton. Because I think she's she's awesome, and recognize her tireless work.
I'll be honest, I had no doubt the American Idol would win this year, simply because they actually had a great and honest show(until Casey was eliminated, but that's my own artist geeking out to see a young adult so ridiculously skilled in a competition like that), and actually took risks by employing young artists who have burgeoning backgrounds in their genre, while still young kids, and all shared the desire to go further and grow together.That was a difference that was familiar to my own background of theatre. That was the difference between this year, and other nuggets of years I've clenched my teeth through. After having spent the past 10 + years working artistically with kids and adults to focus on, explore, and expand their specific desires and disciplines into a place that is tangible and pliable, a show like American Idol has been useful in saying, "hey, look, lots of kids try it, but not like you do, let's focus on your voice." which is an easy assessment and encouragement to make, while working with performance in schools, and preparing kids for investment, not in being an Idol, but in exploring their desires,strengths and the relationships that coincide naturally, and the integrity that lies within. It is a real shame that American Idol did not win this year. For an artist like me, and the millions of others who encourage artists to grow, it was a real shame. This was their year. Just not for the Emmy. Theo has a different, valid argument.It's all technical, and he is right on. I just go from what I know... and I've not seen a reality show competition engage young talent from varying circumstance and genre as I did this year on American Idol. I also didn't watch the Amazing Race. So, I may have missed something. I did not miss the rare connections and mutual growth that happened on American Idol this year. I have missed it in the past, which is why it always seemed an insufferable formula to me. But I digress...And insufferable formula is still the hue of accolade in reality television, and so it is. It is still the accolade of all awards, in many ways. The true reward in any venture explored is the ensemble that builds. Nothing, neither statue nor accolade, rewards the growth and process of discovery and identification.
And nothing touts that more than being on the red carpet! What a weird, hilarious thing! It is so not different than being at a punk show in Cleveland in the 90's, aside from the costume! It's all hilarious, a cavalcade of folks in formal wear being channeled into various annals of movement, this time with cameras snapping as a teenage you would want them to do. But no one is a teenager. No one is either excited to be there, as you might(or I might) have been at a punk show in Cleveland. I thin one of my favorite moments occurred after the Governor's ball, when everyone was either too drunk or too sober, and had to wait on the corner of Figueroa for the cavalcade of limos and and private cars, with no lead other than people screaming numbers into a megaphone. Theo and I laughed, in our mutual histories, as we watched people freak out and realign themselves in the cattle call of the elite.I realize that I may seem bitter about it, but it was not bitterness, at all that I felt. It was hilarity and... something else. I've seen this scene a million and ten times. I've been an actor, artist, activist, restaurant manager, writer, observer, waitress, drunk... and I've seen this scene of chaos. It was somehow comforting and hilarious and completely absurd.
We found our driver, Vidat, not through a megaphone, but through the luck of having an awesome guy who looked out for us as we looked for him. We didn't have to wait nearly as long as those yelling in their phones, and were greeted with a triumphant wave, halfway down the sea of black car traffic. We were on to our "Hollywood after party." It was decked out, silly, and pretentious as the day is long, which is even funnier... but it is as it is.We grabbed the itinerant space of not giving a shit. We found our leaning space, Theo took off to schmooze for a minute, as I held our space. He was maybe gone 10 minutes. Within that 10 minutes, Martha Plimpton and her two friends came over, set her shoes on the mantle, and asked me to take a picture of the three of them together. At least one of the hopes for the evening panned out perfectly and surprisingly.
Ours did, too. Theo may not have won a deserved statue, but we had a whole lot of fun. I was able to jump into an atmosphere that beckons, with humor and raised eyebrows, and we finished it off with night-swimming at the Hollywood farm. That's pretty great. Pretty lucky, and worthy of some fantastic accolades that make the onslaught of images I had intended to post alongside this more personal than had been anticipated post(and did not, as they capture a year). Love that surprise. Theo should have won the Emmy. But the things you actually win, in taking risks, being honest and giving up the ghost, don't necessarily jibe with an academy. Sometimes it's important to exist and play within a structure, in order to bolster the strength that it promises, or mirror the weakness of blindness with a good old reflection of the sun, right? Can't beat that.
I went to the 63rd Emmy awards as proud arm candy for my sweet boy. This was his second nomination with American Idol, and they were poised to win, after a season unlike any other in a long while. Reality television is a red-headed stepchild in the Emmy's, and I understand why in the awards show circuit. Hell, I'm a performance artist rooted in theatre and spectacle. I haven't paid attention to the Emmy's, Oscars, Golden Globes,or any of it, unless Sarah Parker is throwing her fantastic party. And only Sarah Parker. In Chicago. With her homemade buckeyes, fantastic lifelong friends, and specificity to the event that ends up in the Gilder, and a cab ride home. Girl puts on an event that rivals the reality. and wins. That's Chicago. That's Sarah Parker. She watches the Emmy's, maybe, but she holds her fire for the Oscars. In any accolade situation, you adhere to what you hold most dear. That's nature. How funny to be out here, one week to the year that I arrived in Los Angeles, at the Emmy's, an esteemed punctuation to Sarah's passion, and to do so as a guest of a wonderful and deserved nominee. I would take this time to gush about him and his work, but I will refrain for the simple respect I hold for him. American Idol had a great season. again, they were poised to win. I know he was terrified and excited. I was arm candy, and happy to play with costumes and humor. There were two things I openly wanted from the evening: 1) That he'd win his statue and have the acnowledgement of his tireless work 2)to hang out with Martha Plimpton. Because I think she's she's awesome, and recognize her tireless work.
I'll be honest, I had no doubt the American Idol would win this year, simply because they actually had a great and honest show(until Casey was eliminated, but that's my own artist geeking out to see a young adult so ridiculously skilled in a competition like that), and actually took risks by employing young artists who have burgeoning backgrounds in their genre, while still young kids, and all shared the desire to go further and grow together.That was a difference that was familiar to my own background of theatre. That was the difference between this year, and other nuggets of years I've clenched my teeth through. After having spent the past 10 + years working artistically with kids and adults to focus on, explore, and expand their specific desires and disciplines into a place that is tangible and pliable, a show like American Idol has been useful in saying, "hey, look, lots of kids try it, but not like you do, let's focus on your voice." which is an easy assessment and encouragement to make, while working with performance in schools, and preparing kids for investment, not in being an Idol, but in exploring their desires,strengths and the relationships that coincide naturally, and the integrity that lies within. It is a real shame that American Idol did not win this year. For an artist like me, and the millions of others who encourage artists to grow, it was a real shame. This was their year. Just not for the Emmy. Theo has a different, valid argument.It's all technical, and he is right on. I just go from what I know... and I've not seen a reality show competition engage young talent from varying circumstance and genre as I did this year on American Idol. I also didn't watch the Amazing Race. So, I may have missed something. I did not miss the rare connections and mutual growth that happened on American Idol this year. I have missed it in the past, which is why it always seemed an insufferable formula to me. But I digress...And insufferable formula is still the hue of accolade in reality television, and so it is. It is still the accolade of all awards, in many ways. The true reward in any venture explored is the ensemble that builds. Nothing, neither statue nor accolade, rewards the growth and process of discovery and identification.
And nothing touts that more than being on the red carpet! What a weird, hilarious thing! It is so not different than being at a punk show in Cleveland in the 90's, aside from the costume! It's all hilarious, a cavalcade of folks in formal wear being channeled into various annals of movement, this time with cameras snapping as a teenage you would want them to do. But no one is a teenager. No one is either excited to be there, as you might(or I might) have been at a punk show in Cleveland. I thin one of my favorite moments occurred after the Governor's ball, when everyone was either too drunk or too sober, and had to wait on the corner of Figueroa for the cavalcade of limos and and private cars, with no lead other than people screaming numbers into a megaphone. Theo and I laughed, in our mutual histories, as we watched people freak out and realign themselves in the cattle call of the elite.I realize that I may seem bitter about it, but it was not bitterness, at all that I felt. It was hilarity and... something else. I've seen this scene a million and ten times. I've been an actor, artist, activist, restaurant manager, writer, observer, waitress, drunk... and I've seen this scene of chaos. It was somehow comforting and hilarious and completely absurd.
We found our driver, Vidat, not through a megaphone, but through the luck of having an awesome guy who looked out for us as we looked for him. We didn't have to wait nearly as long as those yelling in their phones, and were greeted with a triumphant wave, halfway down the sea of black car traffic. We were on to our "Hollywood after party." It was decked out, silly, and pretentious as the day is long, which is even funnier... but it is as it is.We grabbed the itinerant space of not giving a shit. We found our leaning space, Theo took off to schmooze for a minute, as I held our space. He was maybe gone 10 minutes. Within that 10 minutes, Martha Plimpton and her two friends came over, set her shoes on the mantle, and asked me to take a picture of the three of them together. At least one of the hopes for the evening panned out perfectly and surprisingly.
Ours did, too. Theo may not have won a deserved statue, but we had a whole lot of fun. I was able to jump into an atmosphere that beckons, with humor and raised eyebrows, and we finished it off with night-swimming at the Hollywood farm. That's pretty great. Pretty lucky, and worthy of some fantastic accolades that make the onslaught of images I had intended to post alongside this more personal than had been anticipated post(and did not, as they capture a year). Love that surprise. Theo should have won the Emmy. But the things you actually win, in taking risks, being honest and giving up the ghost, don't necessarily jibe with an academy. Sometimes it's important to exist and play within a structure, in order to bolster the strength that it promises, or mirror the weakness of blindness with a good old reflection of the sun, right? Can't beat that.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Flies on the wall- The background superstar
Since moving out to Los angeles, I've been spending much of my adjustment time doing background work for film and television. I highly recommend this approach to any actor, artist, writer, bon vivant, student of human nature and fascinators of the absurd. Aaaand... everyone else. I never would have gone this route in my 20's when I was a fledgling actor. It's fantastic to work on a different set every day, have a fly-on-the-wall perspective of how different production companies work, and learn so much about people in a very short time. I would have been concerned that I would get stuck in a rut, or attach myself to a path of insignificance in a career that needed to move. So, I didn't. I traveled as an actor, in and out of NYC, Memphis, and any place that held a space on a stage for me. I wrote a lot. I read a lot of Sam Shepard's short stories. In my 20's(and now) I was a huge fan of the Los Angeles lifestyle that fed Shepard's Cruising Paradise and Motel Chronicles. He was the type of Hollywood actor I'd have liked to become- one who acts because he can, is invested, pays the bills, and has this full life of pursuits and experiences that color the idiosyncratic characters that he plays with leading man good looks, a dark and twisted innocence in his writing, full acceptance of his neuroses and privacy in life, and Jessica Lange. There is something about his Hollywood presence that assured me that I would fit there, too. Not with Sam Shepard, mind you, but in that niche. What attracted me to his work, and him, was his clear investment in passion. Something shared and familiar. I didn't want to be Jessica Lange, as an end goal. I didn't want to be the subject and cultivator of passion. I wanted to be Sam Shepard. I wanted to go out and make observations, awkwardly compiling and stringing together bits and pieces to make some sort of sense that is allowed to be non-sensical. I can put that together now, but at the time, I didn't know that. I hadn't learned it yet. When I started out in this industry, it was with much talent, training and promise. Benefits, all, that I put aside to pursue awkwardness, gain experience based on passion that has led to my work with art-outreach, literacy, performance art, writing and installation work. I never gave up on acting, training or this industry, after all. I've used it in all of my work as a skill. I broadened my perspectives and horizons. I took time to inform my view. I needed to act as an artist and a professional. I needed to marry the two, and I am still learning how to do this. Which is why I love being in Los Angeles now, with New York, Memphis and Chicago informing my path. Exciting and fun!
Doing background work has it's advantages, especially while new to the city. Very quickly, you will learn how to get around when you are scheduled for a different location daily. And you immediately know what is shooting and when. Very quickly, you will meet new friends and cohorts, as well as people that you may not want to meet. It is a thrill, for me, to be on set and observe the ways in which productions are run. Most are chaotic and frustrating, and you quickly get an idea of which productions you like to work on, and which you don't. I also love to watch the actors, both from a point of their work ethic, as well as their nature ethic. You really see it all- high profile actors who treat background like their own personal brothel of privilege to actors focused on their craft to actors who are so world-worn that they are calling it in. Every so often, you witness something amazing- Al Pacino being directed by Adam Sandler, JJ Abrams taking great care with his youngest actors, Bill Paxton telling endless stories, Frank Sinatra, Jr performing to your audience, Jerry O'Connell running to get a bottle of water, and asking the background if anyone else needs one, too. It's all a big show that everyone is in together, this Hollywood thing. Legendary and pedestrian life clash into a hilarious head. It's often Shakespearean- the beggar who et of a king, and all(although nothing epitomizes that reference more than the Dave Matthews Band tour bus dumping their literal shit on top of an architectural tour cruise in Chicago, and I'm talking about LA)Background work is not meant for your own personal showcase, which is why I am glad I didn't get into it in my 20's. You are meant to be the architecture of the scene and place. Whether or not you are seen is important to friends back home, perhaps, but you know, as a background actor, that if you do your job well, you will not be noticed. An easy job, and an important one. Some joke that you are a "prop," but I disagree. You are a city street, a courtroom, and texture, a layer. These are all important functions. If you want to be an actor- be aggressive and get those roles. I encourage actors to do background work, with the understanding of that role and its importance(because it is) as atmosphere, and to take the opportunity watch and learn while onset, as there is much to apply when you are acting in a featured role.
Sometimes, these opportunities collide. This is another benefit of starting out in background work. When that collision occurs, and you are ready and willing to go with it, amazing stories become your own.
An example:
Yesterday, I worked as background on Clint Eastwood's new film, J. Edgar. When I was originally booked for a fitting, by my call-in service, I knew nothing about it, other than it was clearly a big-budget film based on J. Edgar Hoover. I was excited about the costumes. I love the fashion of that era, and I haven't worked in this time period yet. My inner costume nerd was twitching. Sadly, I never got past the fitting, as the call in service had booked me in a category that would not have included women. Sigh. This is the same call-in service that had booked me on 90210 a week earlier, then cancelled, because someone probably looked at my AGE. With a want to wear the costumes, I ended up booking myself through LA Casting. YAY! I still didn't know who the director was, but I did know that the attention to detail, in regard to the costuming, was precise. Then I learned that Eastwood was directing, and was more interested.
Clint Eastwood is notorious for directing with a disciplined set that is atypical to most sets, but familiar to a classroom or theatre. On set, there is no talking, aside from the director and the script. No one yells. Before entering the set, you are taught the hand gestures that are used to denote "rolling"and "rehearsal," and reminded that even in points of turn around or change overs, no one is to talk, other than those who were needing to communicate in order to get things done. I love it. It creates the space of work, with no time wasted. Moments are continued, rather than broken, and there is no place for shouting, frustration or bullshit. Just work. Good work. You may have to be Clint Eastwood to get away with it, but I so appreciated it. The atmosphere created was one of passion for the project at hand. Iwas proud to be in that place.
By chance, I was positioned in the front row of a courtroom scene in which Leonardo Dicaprio, as J. Edgar, was making the argument for stricter policing in regard to personal and familial safety, namely kidnapping, heavily referencing the Lindbergh kidnapping. Leonardo Dicaprio was well schooled and working diligently with his character. It was inspiring to see in action. I definitely respect him, as an actor, but I haven't been a follower of his work since Gilbert Grape and Basketball Diaries. I found him exciting, then. I think he lost me, as an audience, with Titanic. This is no fault of his own- he's incredibly talented and strong. Like following a great band, you know when they've switched labels and gone in a direction that is less interesting to you, so you stop listening to the new stuff, and focus on the old, until you get bored, you know? And that former, impassioned stuff, is still there whenever you want to visit it. Audiences are selfish. That's their role. A new respect has formed for him, after watching him work. The guy is a pro. He is invested and intense. Watching him work was as inspiring as watching Eastwood direct, 2 inches from the camera and responding the whole time. There was a palpable sense of ownership between the two that was contagious. What a treat, to have a birds-eye view of this work in action, while being a part of it, as both a literal and figurative onlooker. I was sitting directly behind him. When we got to the point of filming, over and again, I was able to play as an actor. I knew I was on camera. Leonardo was acting his ass off, and earnestly, the director was poised and intent, watching and reacting, and the moment was clearly open for investment. I was happy to play. So I did. It was nice to let go. I didn't know where my investment would go, and that's the beauty of acting- you have your given circumstances, you let what happens happen. This scene was impassioned. I was sold. I just went with it, and played. It was an emotional scene. Tears welled. In between takes, I felt awkward, concerned that I'd gone too far. Another benefit of background(for you actors) is that, if you're emitting something the director notices and doesn't want- they'll switch you out. no harm, no foul. Nothing personal, (unless you take it that way, and if you do, then you know you're not comfortable doing background) it never is. I found myself flustered, a bit. The principal and the director were working their asses off, and it was allowing me to play, as an actor...but I'm background, and respect that...sooooo... I remembered to trust that if it is too much, I'll know. Just go with it. So, I did. Tears welled with every shot. Kind of a vulnerable, unexpected place. At a certain point, the director added in the applause that the speech called for. He directed that I begin it, and everyone else join in. A victory, for sure. Clint fucking Eastwood saw that I was involved through the lens of shooting. This would also add a fun level of my nerdy acting to figure out how to go from tears to clapping. Yay! Oh, and Clint Eastwood addressed me and gave me a direction! That's just cool. With the next take, and many after that, I did. Camera angles changed, and I noticed that, as the director softly spoke to the DP, he was pointing in my direction. We did a few more. Then the director and DP approached me, and Clint Eastwood said(to the DP), "I want to get a shot of my lady, here, responding, with those lovely tears." and to me, he said, "Really nice. thank you." (or something to that effect-much more eloquent than my recollection). The principals were given a break, the chairs were adjusted so the camera could be set on me, and the best part of this story is about to reveal, both as an actor and a person who reveres and appreciates everything that had been going on throughout this shoot, and all of the information and experience that has informed Clint Eastwood into the director that he is, and the acting that I want to explore.
The camera was set on my face. Clint Eastwood stood in the foreground to my left. Dicaprio's stand-in was placed. Clint Eastwood coached me through the beats of the monologue, softly and with open air. He gave me the space to work, punctuating points of emotion, only so far...just to let me play. Don't get me wrong, there was no Oscar winning performance involved, here. This is a difficult task to do, for any actor. I was so thankful to have the training that I do, especially because I have very little on-camera experience, save for Strasberg, a commercial class in Chicago, and a few smaller independent films and shorts. However, I have the wherewithal to understand the fun of the game presented. I held my own. I know that monologue, I had the repetition of what had been done prior, and at the one point I started to force it, he quietly ushered me back. I loved it. It was incredibly intimate. I hope that he can use it. I'd be proud. This experience also reminded me that I am trained as an actor. I am ready. I'm just picky. But I can hold my own amongst those who are passionate and prepared. In fact, I crave that position. Legend and celebrity, be damned! All I need to play is respect, acknowledgement and an invitation. I will rub shoulders with Sam Shepard, yet. I hope to do so with the grace of Jessica Lange and the constitution of my own.
Doing background work has it's advantages, especially while new to the city. Very quickly, you will learn how to get around when you are scheduled for a different location daily. And you immediately know what is shooting and when. Very quickly, you will meet new friends and cohorts, as well as people that you may not want to meet. It is a thrill, for me, to be on set and observe the ways in which productions are run. Most are chaotic and frustrating, and you quickly get an idea of which productions you like to work on, and which you don't. I also love to watch the actors, both from a point of their work ethic, as well as their nature ethic. You really see it all- high profile actors who treat background like their own personal brothel of privilege to actors focused on their craft to actors who are so world-worn that they are calling it in. Every so often, you witness something amazing- Al Pacino being directed by Adam Sandler, JJ Abrams taking great care with his youngest actors, Bill Paxton telling endless stories, Frank Sinatra, Jr performing to your audience, Jerry O'Connell running to get a bottle of water, and asking the background if anyone else needs one, too. It's all a big show that everyone is in together, this Hollywood thing. Legendary and pedestrian life clash into a hilarious head. It's often Shakespearean- the beggar who et of a king, and all(although nothing epitomizes that reference more than the Dave Matthews Band tour bus dumping their literal shit on top of an architectural tour cruise in Chicago, and I'm talking about LA)Background work is not meant for your own personal showcase, which is why I am glad I didn't get into it in my 20's. You are meant to be the architecture of the scene and place. Whether or not you are seen is important to friends back home, perhaps, but you know, as a background actor, that if you do your job well, you will not be noticed. An easy job, and an important one. Some joke that you are a "prop," but I disagree. You are a city street, a courtroom, and texture, a layer. These are all important functions. If you want to be an actor- be aggressive and get those roles. I encourage actors to do background work, with the understanding of that role and its importance(because it is) as atmosphere, and to take the opportunity watch and learn while onset, as there is much to apply when you are acting in a featured role.
Sometimes, these opportunities collide. This is another benefit of starting out in background work. When that collision occurs, and you are ready and willing to go with it, amazing stories become your own.
An example:
Yesterday, I worked as background on Clint Eastwood's new film, J. Edgar. When I was originally booked for a fitting, by my call-in service, I knew nothing about it, other than it was clearly a big-budget film based on J. Edgar Hoover. I was excited about the costumes. I love the fashion of that era, and I haven't worked in this time period yet. My inner costume nerd was twitching. Sadly, I never got past the fitting, as the call in service had booked me in a category that would not have included women. Sigh. This is the same call-in service that had booked me on 90210 a week earlier, then cancelled, because someone probably looked at my AGE. With a want to wear the costumes, I ended up booking myself through LA Casting. YAY! I still didn't know who the director was, but I did know that the attention to detail, in regard to the costuming, was precise. Then I learned that Eastwood was directing, and was more interested.
Clint Eastwood is notorious for directing with a disciplined set that is atypical to most sets, but familiar to a classroom or theatre. On set, there is no talking, aside from the director and the script. No one yells. Before entering the set, you are taught the hand gestures that are used to denote "rolling"and "rehearsal," and reminded that even in points of turn around or change overs, no one is to talk, other than those who were needing to communicate in order to get things done. I love it. It creates the space of work, with no time wasted. Moments are continued, rather than broken, and there is no place for shouting, frustration or bullshit. Just work. Good work. You may have to be Clint Eastwood to get away with it, but I so appreciated it. The atmosphere created was one of passion for the project at hand. Iwas proud to be in that place.
By chance, I was positioned in the front row of a courtroom scene in which Leonardo Dicaprio, as J. Edgar, was making the argument for stricter policing in regard to personal and familial safety, namely kidnapping, heavily referencing the Lindbergh kidnapping. Leonardo Dicaprio was well schooled and working diligently with his character. It was inspiring to see in action. I definitely respect him, as an actor, but I haven't been a follower of his work since Gilbert Grape and Basketball Diaries. I found him exciting, then. I think he lost me, as an audience, with Titanic. This is no fault of his own- he's incredibly talented and strong. Like following a great band, you know when they've switched labels and gone in a direction that is less interesting to you, so you stop listening to the new stuff, and focus on the old, until you get bored, you know? And that former, impassioned stuff, is still there whenever you want to visit it. Audiences are selfish. That's their role. A new respect has formed for him, after watching him work. The guy is a pro. He is invested and intense. Watching him work was as inspiring as watching Eastwood direct, 2 inches from the camera and responding the whole time. There was a palpable sense of ownership between the two that was contagious. What a treat, to have a birds-eye view of this work in action, while being a part of it, as both a literal and figurative onlooker. I was sitting directly behind him. When we got to the point of filming, over and again, I was able to play as an actor. I knew I was on camera. Leonardo was acting his ass off, and earnestly, the director was poised and intent, watching and reacting, and the moment was clearly open for investment. I was happy to play. So I did. It was nice to let go. I didn't know where my investment would go, and that's the beauty of acting- you have your given circumstances, you let what happens happen. This scene was impassioned. I was sold. I just went with it, and played. It was an emotional scene. Tears welled. In between takes, I felt awkward, concerned that I'd gone too far. Another benefit of background(for you actors) is that, if you're emitting something the director notices and doesn't want- they'll switch you out. no harm, no foul. Nothing personal, (unless you take it that way, and if you do, then you know you're not comfortable doing background) it never is. I found myself flustered, a bit. The principal and the director were working their asses off, and it was allowing me to play, as an actor...but I'm background, and respect that...sooooo... I remembered to trust that if it is too much, I'll know. Just go with it. So, I did. Tears welled with every shot. Kind of a vulnerable, unexpected place. At a certain point, the director added in the applause that the speech called for. He directed that I begin it, and everyone else join in. A victory, for sure. Clint fucking Eastwood saw that I was involved through the lens of shooting. This would also add a fun level of my nerdy acting to figure out how to go from tears to clapping. Yay! Oh, and Clint Eastwood addressed me and gave me a direction! That's just cool. With the next take, and many after that, I did. Camera angles changed, and I noticed that, as the director softly spoke to the DP, he was pointing in my direction. We did a few more. Then the director and DP approached me, and Clint Eastwood said(to the DP), "I want to get a shot of my lady, here, responding, with those lovely tears." and to me, he said, "Really nice. thank you." (or something to that effect-much more eloquent than my recollection). The principals were given a break, the chairs were adjusted so the camera could be set on me, and the best part of this story is about to reveal, both as an actor and a person who reveres and appreciates everything that had been going on throughout this shoot, and all of the information and experience that has informed Clint Eastwood into the director that he is, and the acting that I want to explore.
The camera was set on my face. Clint Eastwood stood in the foreground to my left. Dicaprio's stand-in was placed. Clint Eastwood coached me through the beats of the monologue, softly and with open air. He gave me the space to work, punctuating points of emotion, only so far...just to let me play. Don't get me wrong, there was no Oscar winning performance involved, here. This is a difficult task to do, for any actor. I was so thankful to have the training that I do, especially because I have very little on-camera experience, save for Strasberg, a commercial class in Chicago, and a few smaller independent films and shorts. However, I have the wherewithal to understand the fun of the game presented. I held my own. I know that monologue, I had the repetition of what had been done prior, and at the one point I started to force it, he quietly ushered me back. I loved it. It was incredibly intimate. I hope that he can use it. I'd be proud. This experience also reminded me that I am trained as an actor. I am ready. I'm just picky. But I can hold my own amongst those who are passionate and prepared. In fact, I crave that position. Legend and celebrity, be damned! All I need to play is respect, acknowledgement and an invitation. I will rub shoulders with Sam Shepard, yet. I hope to do so with the grace of Jessica Lange and the constitution of my own.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Justification, discovery and belief
For what it is worth, which is much to me, I don't believe in settling in a negative sense. . .I've never known someone who has claimed settlement negatively and not been gripped with an ennui of regret and an excuse of tortured eyes, a dismissive tone in their valid accomplishments, and a torch burning so bright for something that is not impossible, that it blinds the steps taken, so they can be made towards the goals that they chose with eyes darting to the next downfall. I've known many who have made sacrifices, for many reasons, and I can include myself in that group, and we have done so to get to the next step- the next precipice- the next great unknown. And it's terrifying and invigorating. I've also learned that blindness to those steps, whether it be clouded in regret or drama or whatever vice is chosen, debilitates the beauty of those steps chosen to be taken. Those steps inform your journey, no matter what. Whether you choose to decide them, or allow them to be decided, doesn't matter. We are in our element when we embrace what we have, and implement what we want. It is that fucking simple.
To bolster this idea, I'll use my own growing story. As I write this tonight, I am scared shitless about what my life will become, if I am lucky enough to live long enough to accomplish half of the goals I've set out toward. That's a pretty good incentive, as it is, and one that was instilled by my family, to whom I was clearly the trouble-child, the non-conformist, and the one who carries the torch of all we were taught. A torch that helps me understand those who attach themselves to the negative form of settling. My family is comprised of educators and academics. Brilliant artists, too. My writing will never hold a candle to my father's poeticism. My painting(or sewing skills) will never be nearly so expert and precise as my mothers, nor will I ever have the meticulous patience or skill that my step-father has for color saturation. I will never have the visual aptitude, or the drawing sensibilty that Susan has, nor will I ever have the intense appreciation, knowledge, encouragement and articulation of art that Anne has built so effortlessly. I could mire under the weight of ineptitude in comparison with my family. The influence of this admiration and clear appreciation is what makes my work what it is. I love it- it is messy and precise, funny and extending, wonky and interpretive. It is what it is, and it is clearly my voice, from a generation of influence.
I understand my place in my family, for this reason, and I am lucky for this. When I decided to move out to Los Angeles, after how many moves? New York, Memphis, Atlanta, Chicago, I was scared to death to tell them, even though they had clearly seen both the successes and failures incurred in each city. I could have stayed in New York. I could have stayed in Memphis. I could have stayed in Chicago. Had I done so, I'd have negatively settled. The hardest thing about leaving Chicago was not leaving Striding Lion, it was telling my family that I was on the move again.
And they were relieved, which was a great support. And I was excited and following multiple dreams- some that were manifested the dream of California, as an actor, some that were dreams of the heart, as I had been led first with that, as I always am, and finally the dream of moving forward with adventure and hope, because I was lucky enough to do so. So, I did.
I drove out here in order to set a meditation of crossing at least some of the beautiful land of this country. To finally see it, because I could. Through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, I found myself turning off my ipod, and driving along in silence, mouth agape. I paced the journey with a photo documentation of a Mr. Potato-head. Some of these photos were sent to a person who held my heart, when I felt alone. I never was alone. I had my family, I had my friends, I had the absurdity of my Mr. Potato-head documentation.
Since moving out here, I have found a reconnection with some of my dearest friends. I found that the person who first turned my eyes and focus out here was drenched in excuses and dismissal, once the awareness that identified our relationship was clear, and there was no way to turn that around.I don't regret that, as it's not my regret to take, but i acknowledge it, and assure that I will never make those decisions in my world, which I protect and in which I believe. I've been out here for only four months and have incurred confusion, exultation, loss, dismissal, wonder and a myriad of other experiences. Sunny skies and unexpected drenchings. What strikes me about this transition is that, above everything else, I have built the awareness and luck to appreciate that which is clear: Clarity and truth are far more settling than manipulation or dishonesty. When my eyes close for good, they won't be wounded. Rather, they will be full of the wisdom that is continually built and shared. The art that I create is consistently built of those moments of transition, leading to the next. It is full of characters, interpretation, stasis and corrupted settling. A mirror, perhaps, of a wayward journey that is constantly found and accessible. I can't wait to see how it manifests when I have finally settled, and the wayward aspect is an influence, rather than an apex. To use a cheap navigation metaphor- I've definitely entered a phase where I'm comfortable with my role as a rudder, playing direction and skewing. I have a distinct feeling that the Anchor phase is presenting itself, and that is great. Of course, it will begin in a city that is famous for both it's fascination with constant filming,the make-believe believabilty and the unstable constitution of the land upon which we stand. Perhaps the treat of an earthquake actually works better for me- I'm accustomed to tornadoes, blizzards and terrible driving conditions. All of which can be forseen. It's terrifying to me to build upon both literal and metaphoric instability. Sigh. And I love challenges. So, here goes- I'm suddenly in a place of few responsibilities, beautiful weather, reinvention around every corner huddled with the experience to know that reinvention is nothing more than an introduction. I like that. A lot.
To bolster this idea, I'll use my own growing story. As I write this tonight, I am scared shitless about what my life will become, if I am lucky enough to live long enough to accomplish half of the goals I've set out toward. That's a pretty good incentive, as it is, and one that was instilled by my family, to whom I was clearly the trouble-child, the non-conformist, and the one who carries the torch of all we were taught. A torch that helps me understand those who attach themselves to the negative form of settling. My family is comprised of educators and academics. Brilliant artists, too. My writing will never hold a candle to my father's poeticism. My painting(or sewing skills) will never be nearly so expert and precise as my mothers, nor will I ever have the meticulous patience or skill that my step-father has for color saturation. I will never have the visual aptitude, or the drawing sensibilty that Susan has, nor will I ever have the intense appreciation, knowledge, encouragement and articulation of art that Anne has built so effortlessly. I could mire under the weight of ineptitude in comparison with my family. The influence of this admiration and clear appreciation is what makes my work what it is. I love it- it is messy and precise, funny and extending, wonky and interpretive. It is what it is, and it is clearly my voice, from a generation of influence.
I understand my place in my family, for this reason, and I am lucky for this. When I decided to move out to Los Angeles, after how many moves? New York, Memphis, Atlanta, Chicago, I was scared to death to tell them, even though they had clearly seen both the successes and failures incurred in each city. I could have stayed in New York. I could have stayed in Memphis. I could have stayed in Chicago. Had I done so, I'd have negatively settled. The hardest thing about leaving Chicago was not leaving Striding Lion, it was telling my family that I was on the move again.
And they were relieved, which was a great support. And I was excited and following multiple dreams- some that were manifested the dream of California, as an actor, some that were dreams of the heart, as I had been led first with that, as I always am, and finally the dream of moving forward with adventure and hope, because I was lucky enough to do so. So, I did.
I drove out here in order to set a meditation of crossing at least some of the beautiful land of this country. To finally see it, because I could. Through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, I found myself turning off my ipod, and driving along in silence, mouth agape. I paced the journey with a photo documentation of a Mr. Potato-head. Some of these photos were sent to a person who held my heart, when I felt alone. I never was alone. I had my family, I had my friends, I had the absurdity of my Mr. Potato-head documentation.
Since moving out here, I have found a reconnection with some of my dearest friends. I found that the person who first turned my eyes and focus out here was drenched in excuses and dismissal, once the awareness that identified our relationship was clear, and there was no way to turn that around.I don't regret that, as it's not my regret to take, but i acknowledge it, and assure that I will never make those decisions in my world, which I protect and in which I believe. I've been out here for only four months and have incurred confusion, exultation, loss, dismissal, wonder and a myriad of other experiences. Sunny skies and unexpected drenchings. What strikes me about this transition is that, above everything else, I have built the awareness and luck to appreciate that which is clear: Clarity and truth are far more settling than manipulation or dishonesty. When my eyes close for good, they won't be wounded. Rather, they will be full of the wisdom that is continually built and shared. The art that I create is consistently built of those moments of transition, leading to the next. It is full of characters, interpretation, stasis and corrupted settling. A mirror, perhaps, of a wayward journey that is constantly found and accessible. I can't wait to see how it manifests when I have finally settled, and the wayward aspect is an influence, rather than an apex. To use a cheap navigation metaphor- I've definitely entered a phase where I'm comfortable with my role as a rudder, playing direction and skewing. I have a distinct feeling that the Anchor phase is presenting itself, and that is great. Of course, it will begin in a city that is famous for both it's fascination with constant filming,the make-believe believabilty and the unstable constitution of the land upon which we stand. Perhaps the treat of an earthquake actually works better for me- I'm accustomed to tornadoes, blizzards and terrible driving conditions. All of which can be forseen. It's terrifying to me to build upon both literal and metaphoric instability. Sigh. And I love challenges. So, here goes- I'm suddenly in a place of few responsibilities, beautiful weather, reinvention around every corner huddled with the experience to know that reinvention is nothing more than an introduction. I like that. A lot.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Black Swan- holy shit. What a film.
"We're all mad here, I'm mad. You're mad."
-Lewis Carroll
Madness is the apex of all great conflict. We all have points of madness, awareness of mania in the circumstances that surround, and a fascination with those steps that lead to that point, that apex, that loss of control resulting in a need to assess, reorganize, rebuild or let go. We all know madness. It falls apart, at some point, or it builds- a never-ending ebb and flow of humanity, emotion, investment, call it what you will. We are trained to achieve- to build- to grow- to accomplish- to ascertain and to revel in the reward, whatever it may be, or to move on, lessons learned, tucked into the back pocket of identity. Madness is a part of the human condition.
It is no surprise that madness is in the architecture of many, if not most, films, literary works, works of art, performance and other forms built for an audience. Madness and beauty. Film-making, itself, is a maddening art. Madness is not pretty. It is not gorgeous. It is meticulous. It is laborious. It is a series of steps getting to a place of completion that is arguably completed. If a film is to be released, it is just that- released. Let go. Like the release of any goal, whether it to be to achievement, growth, distance, back pockets, what you will.
It is rare that an American film catches madness as Darren Aronofsky's film, Black Swan, has done. This film catches madness in simplicity and familiarity, following Nina in a place of consistent discipline as she traverses, not into madness, but with it. That is madness. So many performances and journeys focus on the descent into madness, and this film articulates the maintenance. The result of this difference is that the aftermath, if there really is one, is almost a relief. Beauty is as translucent and visceral as simple scenes and camera angles that catch pedestrian moments and associations: the muscled back of an aged ballet instructor, building and contorting with escalating movement and precision in a simple frame demonstrating a wingspan growing into flight- articulating an architecture of discipline and prowess, while showcasing the movement of each muscle and years of formation and structure as only a veteran of the movement can do. Black Swan is not about ballet, or the rigors involved in the precision of that particular discipline. But you see it. It is clear and accessible where madness fits within Nina; as a punctuation. It is beautiful and gruesome. And a sidenote. A structured evidence. It is a given circumstance. In this quick shot, anyone knows that Nina's journey is one that has been prepared and accepted and a part of a process. There is no "Rocky Balboa triumphant running up the hill" to it. Nina is clearly skilled and trained and aspiring, and has been for years. No need for concern about her well being, on that point.It is what it is, and the focus remains on her as the protagonist, deemed fragile, clearly being guided, and craving perfection. Ballet is a perfect industry for a backdrop to this story, for that point. It is an art built on precision. A perfect choice. She is clearly marked by the scars of direction, again placed in a pedestrian denouement. Because the story of her journey, again, in not a descent into madness; it is the maintenance of madness. There is no blame, no fall, merely following through. Kudos to all involved in this film- it is a delicate balance to tow the line of madness in this manner as there are so many temptations for all involved to "jump the shark" of imagery, performance and direction. This film is full of that constant opportunity, with a clear budget to do so. Constantly teetering on the edge, form and function maintained itself with integrity and real simplicity. How balletic, right?
For this reason, madness gets to take center stage. This is a treat, a ride and completely terrifying. As an audience, we are not confused by side plot-lines and confusing choices. It all makes sense. There is no muddling, aside from some lighting choices in the ecstasy sequence, which I can forgive, and the idea that Mila Kulis' character, Lily, could be on the same level in ballet with shoulder tattoos and approving dancing sequences with free-flying hair, while overseen by superiors in the dance studio. I know enough about the ballet world to raise my eyebrows there and shrug my shoulders, because I get that it establishes her "rebel" stature. I understand that we are still an american audience. I could even create a list of moments, other than these, that I'd normally attach myself to in disbelief. But I won't, because I didn't, while watching the film. There are some definite points of the film that get "that close" to making me want to call bullshit and rolling my eyes. But those points weren't pushed past the melodrama point in which they could have been. Which makes it more authentic. Because melodrama is also pushed in pedestrian life. I bought it all.
The only film that I've seen that has hit madness so closely is Roman Polanski's "Repulsion." He, however, was not able to so deftly avert melodrama. His heroine did hurt others, rather than merely herself(which true madness is so closely married to self destruction), outside of the visions and dream sequences, and that built the waves to carry the madness ship home. Polanski didn't skirt melodrama in "Repulsion." He hit the madness, but Aronofsky eclipsed him with the maintenance. I guess it was time. 45 years will do that, right? There is something more horrific and identifiable in the vision of hurting and haunting, without the actual implementation. If, as a society, we were to look at those who are truly influenced by this idea of terror, the truly terrific awareness would not be in those who find a means to an end by hurting others, but by those who end themselves. It's all terrible and frightening, yes, and certainly not to be celebrated, as neither Black Swan nor Repulsion do, but Black Swan almost seems more disconcerting because it hits a bit closer to the madness that we all share. Varying degrees, of course, but to stand on the outside of watching someone accomplish their goals and potentially expire because of them, versus watching someone haunted and reacting to that haunting. There's something to that. Perhaps it is more terrifying because Nina is as haunted as Catherine Denouve's character, leaving a trail of evidence along the way that the audience sees, while those around her do not. But Nina's character is more public, watched over in every moment by friends, trainers, herself, and not "left alone for an uncomfortable weekend of rage." Is that the melodramatic difference? That it is public, in every sense? Is that the comparison between the two films, and a statement on the world now, versus then, in a cinematic sphere? It's certainly not "The Social Network." I love this film.
All of the performances by the actors were stunning. Good work, guys.
-Lewis Carroll
Madness is the apex of all great conflict. We all have points of madness, awareness of mania in the circumstances that surround, and a fascination with those steps that lead to that point, that apex, that loss of control resulting in a need to assess, reorganize, rebuild or let go. We all know madness. It falls apart, at some point, or it builds- a never-ending ebb and flow of humanity, emotion, investment, call it what you will. We are trained to achieve- to build- to grow- to accomplish- to ascertain and to revel in the reward, whatever it may be, or to move on, lessons learned, tucked into the back pocket of identity. Madness is a part of the human condition.
It is no surprise that madness is in the architecture of many, if not most, films, literary works, works of art, performance and other forms built for an audience. Madness and beauty. Film-making, itself, is a maddening art. Madness is not pretty. It is not gorgeous. It is meticulous. It is laborious. It is a series of steps getting to a place of completion that is arguably completed. If a film is to be released, it is just that- released. Let go. Like the release of any goal, whether it to be to achievement, growth, distance, back pockets, what you will.
It is rare that an American film catches madness as Darren Aronofsky's film, Black Swan, has done. This film catches madness in simplicity and familiarity, following Nina in a place of consistent discipline as she traverses, not into madness, but with it. That is madness. So many performances and journeys focus on the descent into madness, and this film articulates the maintenance. The result of this difference is that the aftermath, if there really is one, is almost a relief. Beauty is as translucent and visceral as simple scenes and camera angles that catch pedestrian moments and associations: the muscled back of an aged ballet instructor, building and contorting with escalating movement and precision in a simple frame demonstrating a wingspan growing into flight- articulating an architecture of discipline and prowess, while showcasing the movement of each muscle and years of formation and structure as only a veteran of the movement can do. Black Swan is not about ballet, or the rigors involved in the precision of that particular discipline. But you see it. It is clear and accessible where madness fits within Nina; as a punctuation. It is beautiful and gruesome. And a sidenote. A structured evidence. It is a given circumstance. In this quick shot, anyone knows that Nina's journey is one that has been prepared and accepted and a part of a process. There is no "Rocky Balboa triumphant running up the hill" to it. Nina is clearly skilled and trained and aspiring, and has been for years. No need for concern about her well being, on that point.It is what it is, and the focus remains on her as the protagonist, deemed fragile, clearly being guided, and craving perfection. Ballet is a perfect industry for a backdrop to this story, for that point. It is an art built on precision. A perfect choice. She is clearly marked by the scars of direction, again placed in a pedestrian denouement. Because the story of her journey, again, in not a descent into madness; it is the maintenance of madness. There is no blame, no fall, merely following through. Kudos to all involved in this film- it is a delicate balance to tow the line of madness in this manner as there are so many temptations for all involved to "jump the shark" of imagery, performance and direction. This film is full of that constant opportunity, with a clear budget to do so. Constantly teetering on the edge, form and function maintained itself with integrity and real simplicity. How balletic, right?
For this reason, madness gets to take center stage. This is a treat, a ride and completely terrifying. As an audience, we are not confused by side plot-lines and confusing choices. It all makes sense. There is no muddling, aside from some lighting choices in the ecstasy sequence, which I can forgive, and the idea that Mila Kulis' character, Lily, could be on the same level in ballet with shoulder tattoos and approving dancing sequences with free-flying hair, while overseen by superiors in the dance studio. I know enough about the ballet world to raise my eyebrows there and shrug my shoulders, because I get that it establishes her "rebel" stature. I understand that we are still an american audience. I could even create a list of moments, other than these, that I'd normally attach myself to in disbelief. But I won't, because I didn't, while watching the film. There are some definite points of the film that get "that close" to making me want to call bullshit and rolling my eyes. But those points weren't pushed past the melodrama point in which they could have been. Which makes it more authentic. Because melodrama is also pushed in pedestrian life. I bought it all.
The only film that I've seen that has hit madness so closely is Roman Polanski's "Repulsion." He, however, was not able to so deftly avert melodrama. His heroine did hurt others, rather than merely herself(which true madness is so closely married to self destruction), outside of the visions and dream sequences, and that built the waves to carry the madness ship home. Polanski didn't skirt melodrama in "Repulsion." He hit the madness, but Aronofsky eclipsed him with the maintenance. I guess it was time. 45 years will do that, right? There is something more horrific and identifiable in the vision of hurting and haunting, without the actual implementation. If, as a society, we were to look at those who are truly influenced by this idea of terror, the truly terrific awareness would not be in those who find a means to an end by hurting others, but by those who end themselves. It's all terrible and frightening, yes, and certainly not to be celebrated, as neither Black Swan nor Repulsion do, but Black Swan almost seems more disconcerting because it hits a bit closer to the madness that we all share. Varying degrees, of course, but to stand on the outside of watching someone accomplish their goals and potentially expire because of them, versus watching someone haunted and reacting to that haunting. There's something to that. Perhaps it is more terrifying because Nina is as haunted as Catherine Denouve's character, leaving a trail of evidence along the way that the audience sees, while those around her do not. But Nina's character is more public, watched over in every moment by friends, trainers, herself, and not "left alone for an uncomfortable weekend of rage." Is that the melodramatic difference? That it is public, in every sense? Is that the comparison between the two films, and a statement on the world now, versus then, in a cinematic sphere? It's certainly not "The Social Network." I love this film.
All of the performances by the actors were stunning. Good work, guys.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
