Original impulses

Technologies in music conducting and documentary filmmaking.

Kai Bumann, a German conductor working in Poland, when describing his method stresses the importance of understanding the original impulse for a given music composition. Before conducting a particular piece he wants to know how its composer saw the word. For Bumann music is closely connected with philosophy and theology. Finding the impulse that preceded a given score becomes the basis for the conductor's work. For example, sometimes during these searches he arrives at “deep layers of sorrow.”

Seeking the original impulse is a noble and elegant technology of any interpretive craft. Can the same be applied to a documentary filmmaking? Not always, seems to me.

I’ve made a few film portraits that indeed were based on what at that time I perceived were the initial impulses forming the lives of their heros. Among others, “Philosopher’s Paradise” was based on such approach, so was “Red with Black”. The latter was obvious and easy since Henryk Musiałowicz speaks straight about his artistic turmoils. “Philosopher’s Paradise” (although favorably received by critics and viewers and accepted by its hero) left me concerned because my approach forced a spiritual diagnosis of the inner core of a philosopher, who to many (including himself) is a hard core materialist. Was I really allowed to force my POV on an image of another person? To this day I remain hesitant about my directorial choice in this film.

The above reflections were perhaps one of the few reasons why my latest project - “Lawnswood Gardens” - purposely stays away from any kind of (be it metaphysical or historical) investigating of its hero, instead it focuses on an attempt to render emotions connected with my meeting with Zygmunt Bauman. Granted that the word “my” is dangerous in this above context. Yet, there seems to be a qualitative difference between uncovering somebody’s initial impulses and reporting one’s own reaction to this person.

Does it mean that a conductor could be more free exploring his “heros” (composers) than a filmmaker exploring his screen subjects? Perhaps we are approaching here a wall of a documentary filmmaking. The wall of humbleness toward one's own limited understanding of others and of respect toward their complexities and vastness. Another wall would be potential harm that a film could inflict upon its heros -one of the reasons Kieślowski abandoned the documentary form.

It’s possible that I am just splitting hair here. It’s possible that a certain arrogance (of vision) is necessary to make documentaries. Perhaps this never easy maneuvering between one’s own perception and understunding of its potential dangers is the hardest element in a documentary film directing.

Screens “R” us

1.

A movie screen sizes you up
and evaluates carefully.
Beware, no mercy intended here.
You will get only what you deserve.
Do not go lightly
into that dark room.

2.
“I wish it didn’t happen this way
yet, those who approach me
for an autograph or to say
how much they enjoy my latest role
(of a killer or a lover or a hero)
forfeit for this moment
their dignity.
Dizziness of their
dislocated souls
pains and troubles me.
It is my duty

to make them

feel whole again.”

3.
Small words kill,
glances belittle,
silences condemn.
Monologues oppress,
wits chip away
chunks of souls.

"Movie stars in politics?

Look at Clooney,

what gave him the right to

throw his weight as

the ambassador of peace?

Ridiculous and pathetic."

Me, me, me
everyone silently screams
around a dinner table.
“Pawel, we hope

you won’t feel offended,
but we don’t like movies,
they are too shallow.”

---------------------

the middle part re-words a quote from George Clooney reported by Ian Parker in "Somebody has to be in control" published by "The New Yorker".

Know your rank?

“Limitless” written by Leslie Dixon (script), Alan Glynn (novel)

directed by Neil Burger

The riff below is a subjective reaction not so much to the film itself as to a certain uncomfortable feeling after the screening. It could be the result of the film itself or a mind set of the viewer. Here we go:

“Limitless” despite its forgettable script enters an intriguing area of the power of the mind as the latest commodity, the key in a new division between brilliant people, the smart ones and the rest. That division replaces the earlier distinctions in social ranks based on blood line, wealth or popularity. The story makes clear that the achievements in social status or wealth are (or will be) a direct result of the power of the mind or another words - of intelligence.

According to the film a superior mind power blends total memory recall with the ability to connect its elements in order to analyze, predict and select the best action for a given task. Either by design or because of the haphazard scriptwriting, the conclusions of the story are a bit worrisome.

Regardless of the source, the lessons pouring from the screen seem to make the viewers resign to their own mind limits. Trying to exceed them would result in death or a major handicap (a fantastic episode with the sister of the hero), so folks - stay where you are, do not rock the boat. Accept your IQ and let others who are smarter rule over you. This governing conclusion finishes the film in such a blatant way that there is no doubt in the superiority of our elected officials. Since unfortunately this is not the case in the real world one wonders what was the basic emotional/world view premise of the entire storytelling here.

Of course the “Limitless” anecdote is a tech fairly tale, but underneath each fairly tale lies a specific worldview. Could it be that in this case this worldview is build with the following conclusions: “accept the oppression, let others decide your life, know your limits, since we are not equal”? There is something disturbingly opressive in the vibe of this flick.

On being human or tough film questions

"Wall Street: money never sleeps"

directed by Oliver Stone

Oliver Stone’s DVD commentary for “Wall Street: money never sleeps” is way more interesting than the film itself. I am a fan of the original but the sequel feels tired. Strangely, or not, the production challenges pop in several times during the commentary. The ease or difficulty of the process of filmmaking is no indicator of the quality of the product yet when a director dwells too much on the difficulties of the logistics of the production and when at the same time the screen lacks joy and vibrancy the link seems clear.

(Michael Mann talking about his “Heat” with 5 times more shooting days than its cheaper version “LA Takedown” never once whines about the complexity and the difficulties of his big production. Isn’t directing for boys and girls big enough not to dwell on logistics, or as my teachers at the Polish Film School were pounding into our heads - “nobody cares about your production problems’.)

In addition to feeling sorry for himself for not having his toys big enough in the commentary Oliver Stone dispenses snippets of his life wisdom. It’s (purposely?) provocative and has a tint of the Buddhist spell in it. As a Sunday Buddhist myself I take issue with it. Commenting on his screen hero Gordon Gekko, Stone says:

“There is this ridiculous and crude stereotype of rich people being ‘oh what are they sorry for’. Are you a human being when you say that? Are you really trying to understand what it is being George Bush, Richard Nixon, somebody rich? Suspend this crap in your head about them having it better than you do. It is self depreciating because you are saying ‘hey I am having so hard because I am so poor, I don't have the money, why do they have problems’? That's the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You are not human when you say that, you devalue your own humanity when you say that. You must understand everyone else, even if you don't like them. And that takes quite a stretch of your imagination and your heart. Keep your heart intact.”

Nice and profound, right?

From a narrative point of view a black character has to be given a chance to redeem or at least to reveal his inner complexities. Yet when talking to real people about the mega rich and powerful things change. The dilemma of “walking in somebody’s else shoes” appears.

Stone urges us not to envy the more privileged among us, to put ourselves in the place of their miseries and not to be petty. Yet, shouldn’t he put himself in the shoes of those who have less (than he, the rich and privileged himself) before calling them “not human” when all they want is a modicum of the comfort he enjoys?

Clearly everyone on this planet suffers, feels pain and despair. However before philosophizing or moralizing we have to be fed.

Stone is right urging to have empathy for a different other, to understand that we all are twisted, challenged and scared shitless. Yet the bottom line of basic life necessities somehow eludes him. Plus there is something strange in urging the less fortunate of us to empathize with the dimension of suffering in those who are so privileged (and often corrupt).

On the other hand perhaps Stone knows more, perhaps his moral and spiritual stance is simply more advanced and I just don’t get it. Perhaps. Similarly, when Michał Oleszczyk argues from a moral point of view with my raving about “127 hours” (see the comment to the previous post) he may very well be right, yet I am not spiritually mature enough to accept his point. The issue is where does apotheosis of life stop and exploitation begins. We both feel the problem differently and no amount of arguing will change that. With Oliver Stone it could be something similar - where does empathy turn into self-excusing mechanism? Those who struggle with life's necessities will never know unless they find ourselves in his (rich) shoes.

If only life experiences were exchangeable, we all would be wiser and more moral.

“It happens”

"The Kids Are All Right"

Written by Stuart Blumberg and Lisa Cholodenko,

directed by Cholodenko.

A lady married to another lady has a swing with a guy. The guy happens to be a sperm donor whose “goods” both ladies used way back to get pregnant. The key word here is “happens.”

The lightness and the speed of the story, its charming, California light bathed characters are deliciously vulnerable, vaguely self aware of their shortcomings yet unable to successfully conquer them, in short they are us, seen through the emphatic writing and directing lenses.

The character work done by the creators and the actors is of such a caliber that it is not the externality of the persons on the screen (for example their sex orientation) that drives their development. Rather it is the characters’ inner psychological struggles with their own growth or the lack of it (which we all can relate to) that makes the heart of this storytelling.

Strangely enough (or not, since what follows is a classic recipe for good writing) this universal dimension is achieved largely because the story told is the story lived: the co-writer and the co-writer/director explore their own issues and experiences in the script.

The anecdotical devise of the marital cheat “happens” to involve the guy who eighteen years earlier or so anonymously donated sperm and who now, tracked down by the resulting kids, meets the mothers and goes nuts over one of them. She does too. However the fact that he is the father of her kid is of secondary importance. What’s most pressing is their mutual inner void and vulnerability, coupled with physical attraction. That’s at least what I saw on the screen and what I heard as the explanations for this plot maneuver given by Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg at the Creative Screenwriting Podcast conducted by Jeff Goldsmith.

The way the filmmakers treat the reasons for the fling’s attraction is the key to the tone of the story. The woman sees a man. The fact that he is the (anonymous) sperm donor/the father of her child does not trigger any “mystery of the DNA”, "oh God, he is the father of my child" fascination. Such approach could have possibly resulted in a take on the story bordering on philosophical ruminations - still potentially remaining a comedy. And it would not have to be pretentious: image what Woody Allen or Charlie Kaufman would do with such a concept.

The Cholodenko/Blumberg take however purposely keeps the events and the motivations of the characters south of “profound”. The characters struggles with their overwhelming weaknesses are enough to fuel a satisfying narrative and keep us glued to the screen. After all, in our daily lives we first encounter our own character limitations and only then rarely (if ever) become aware of the underlying metaphysical or evolutionary dimensions of our existence.

chemical in your brain

"127 hours" A film by Danny Boyle, Simon Beaufoy, James Franco

OMG! What a film!

“Free Blood” sets up the “narcotic” vibe with their furious “Never Hear Surf Music Again” and the story that follows keeps up the mad pace and never releases its grip. This pace keeping is by itself already amazing considering that the film is about an immobilized man. How do you tell a story of a guy who can’t move? As an action flick. Naturlich! The structure resembles an hour-glass shape (a clever poster): from the “in your face” universal opening crowds montage through a singular ordeal zeroed in on a rock in the middle of the canyon slot we go back to the universal, because as “Free Blood” sings:

There must be some fucking chemical
(Chemical in your brain)
That makes us different from animals
(Makes us all the same)

Danny Boyle (whom previously I disregarded - both “Trainspotting” and “Slumdog Millionaire” plainly bored me) here grabbed me by the throat and forced to follow his storytelling exactly as he designed it. (I got that after hearing him and Simon Beaufoy talk with Jeff Goldstein on the Screenwriting Magazine podcast). To so effectively create a racing visual story about an immobilized fellow takes extraordinary skills. I came out of the movie theater shaken to the bone (no pun intended - for those who know the pivotal scene).

Some critics say the storytelling is manipulative and cynical forcing upon the viewer notions of guilt and redemption of Aron Ralston. I didn’t get that this way at all. My understanding of the film was that whatever happened to the hero happened because “shit happens”. The misfortune wasn’t brought by Ralston's shortcomings as a human being. It just happened. Granted, he did not leave a message where he was going and so nobody was able to help him, but, from a dramatic point of view, that was to keep the guy alone, and in reality it was everyday carelessness of being already high on his drug (as most of us are most of the time anyway). The scenes from his past were most likely the reaction of the psyche to the horrifying predicament. They were triggered by the “If I hadn’t only....” mechanism, more the result of the horror of the entrapment and not a court case for the reasons of the misfortune.

Misfortunes are around us. When they strike we usually react by “why me”. That’s why the filmmakers take this aspect and magnify it to the limits by the music video opening. It clearly says “it’s about all of us, folks”, “we are all drugged one way or the other”, “his kick is the outdoor sport, what’s yours?”

The second psychological mechanism of a misfortune is the already mentioned “if I only had not ...” We seek in our past justification for what befalls upon us. Sometimes shit happens with a reason, sometimes not. In case of Aron Ralston, we really don’t know the reasons. A transcendental intelligence maybe knows it. Not Ralston. Certainly not Danny Boyle.

I feel Boyle just tries to get inside the hero’s mind and recreate the “if I only had not...” mechanism. Accusing him of cruelty and manipulation and of feeding off some “gore porno” tendency does not in my opinion have any grounds. His work is light years away from such exploitation flicks like for example “The hostel” (that was a morally bankrupt film!) The final act in "127 hours" is not redemption (for some previous sins), but the result of fighting for once’s life and being strong enough and focused enough to win. On the other hand, films are individual, magical encounters and everyone should be free to experience them in a singular, original way. One man’s poison is another man’s medicine.

Vibrancy is one of the words Danny Boyle stresses when discussing the film. He indeed keeps the story alive. Is it the two DP units of (as he stresses) equal status that add energy to the storytelling? Not to mention a virtuoso direction itself, a very precise script and of course an amazing actor. Simon Beaufoy talks about the virtue of speed (not that speed!) in orchestrating a movie going experience. When he teaches screenwriting he makes his students to write a script in (if I remember well) three weeks. He explains that “what is missing in structure and depth is compensated by energy and drive”. Something like this says Werner Herzog when he talks about editing. Judging by their work the guys are right. (How come I struggle for a year with the editing of an hour long sociological documentary? That’s a rhetorical question I do not even wish to start answering here.)

Anyway, “127 hours” is a paean to the human spirit, an uncompromising invitation to participate in a brutal (but screen safe) experience that through its extremes reiterates with full gusto what it means to be alive. Or as “Free blood” sings in the motto:

"Take it if it makes you numb
Take it if it make you come
Take it if it makes you naked
Take it!"

At war

"Restrepo" by

Tim Hetherington, Sebastian Junger

A few quotes from the makers:

On the best advice for a documentary filmmaker: “Do not, under and circumstances, cede editorial control of the film to anyone else.” They did not and financed the shoot themselves.

On not including close up graphic shots in the film (despite having filmed them): “It’s better to watch death from a distance. It forces the viewer to be more engaged. A shocking close up disconnects”.

Tim says that the camera became his gun giving him a way to control the experience (“the camera was my gun. (...) Because of it I was not afraid.”)

Indeed, the immediacy of this film is shocking from the moment it becomes clear that the filmmakers are right in the middle of combat and their obsession with covering the scene at times stays ahead of their safety, while the soldiers main objectives is kill the enemy without getting killed.

So, what does it take to provide the viewer with an emotional experience of the events filmed? Clearly being close to the subject of the storytelling, becoming one of its participants and acquiring their perspective helps. But there is more: a balance of restrain and immediacy is needed as well. It seems that to the makers of Restrepo withdrawing certain elements of the subject matter (not creating a narrative porn with showing everything in full detail, and I do not mean only the physical stuff) makes space for the viewer to experience that which the heros themselves struggle with.

The filmmakers select their canvas and style by sticking to the filmed unit, by avoiding an attempt to give the “bigger picture”, by limiting their ways of handling traumatic moments, by carefully entering (or not entering) the psyche of their heros. The combination of these decisions is very powerful.

The audience together with the characters on screen does not fully comprehend or is able to fully process the experience. And, contrary to the intuitive urge to show more, this controlled discrepancy between the limited narrative approach and obviously full filmmaking access to the surface of events creates an emotional, gut wrenching feeling of being in the middle of things. Because being in the middle excludes full control and understanding.