Making short films

This coming October I graduate from Columbia.  By the time I am finished, I will have produced four thesis films and co-produced an additional thesis.  Considering most of my classmates only produce one film for graduation, this is a pretty significant number.

Making these films has taught me all sorts of things.  For instance, don't work with crazy people.  Find funding before you start.  Learn the language before you produce a film in a foreign country.  Work with the same crew of people you trust.  It has also taught me to get a thicker skin.  People aren't always going to like me.  That one was hard for me, because growing up I was always well liked.  And graduate school is strangely like the real world when it comes to playing favorites.  I have been often frustrated by the fact that I work harder as a producer than any other student, but am rarely given any accolades.  In the last year alone I have produced three films out of town (one in Bolivia!), but when the producing awards are announced next week, I am fairly certain I will not be on that list.  I could say it won't be like that once I graduate, but I look around me and see that is just how it is...people hire people they know or people they like, not necessarily people who are best for the job.

Maybe I am just a little down on myself at the moment.  I seem to be struggling with being able to keep up with my friends.  Keeping up with the navigation of social media.  Keeping up with website (which has been down for nearly 8 months). And worse yet, I still don't have a job and I desperately need one.  So, if any of you out there know of a job for a film producer (hey, I can UPM or line produce too) or of a programming job (cause I'm thinking about going back into programming), please let me know.  I'm pretty desperate.

Silent Film Nerd

Maria, my fellow research assistant, and I work for a professor we affectionately like to call, "crazy Jane" or CJ for short. CJ is very disorganized and Maria and I often consider quitting. But I think we like writing about silent film too much to actually give notice.

Doing editorial work and research on a book about silent film era women who worked behind the camera may not seem like the most fascinating thing, but really, it's like playing six degrees of separation--SOAP OPERA STYLE!

Everyone is connected to everyone else! And even in early Hollywood everyone was slutty and sleeping around! Jane Murfin (the subject of my first article) was a writer, who in the sound era would go on to co-write such films as Pride and Prejudice and The Women (both 1939) but during the silent era, she was most famous for writing films about a dog named Strongheart, who was co-owned by her lover (note: NOT husband) director, Larry Trimble. Trimble was very handsome and a bit of a ladies man--he also had a serious thing for writers. When Murfin dumped him he married writer Marian Blackton. Marian was the daughter of the founder of Vitagraph Studios, J. Stuart Blackton. Nepotism was (and clearly still is) how you get ahead in Hollywood, and while J. Stuart ran the studio, Marian always had a job as her father's script supervisor or screenwriter. One of the first films she wrote (which her father, of course, directed) was The Redeeming Sin, starring Alla Nazimova. Nazimova was a notorious bi-sexual (as well as Nancy Reagan's godmother!?!?!) who had affairs primarily with women, including the brilliant, successful (and very butch) director, Dorothy Arzner. Arzner started as a editor on the now lost, Too Much Mustard (1919), a film directed by Donald Crisp. Crisp is much better known as an actor in such films as National Velvet and How Green Was My Valley. He was also married for a long time to the very place we started: Jane Murfin.


And that's not the half of it. Sex scandals! Abortions! Lesbians! Murder! Yep the silent era had it all.

Now you know why Maria and have such a hard time actually quitting.

W. Somerset Maugham

Today I've firmly planted my butt in a chair and I'm trying to write about Gloria Swanson. The article is due on the 1st. It's about her career as a producer in the late 1920s. Swanson produced and starred in an adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's short story, "Sadie Thompson." Consequently, I've been reading about W. Somerset Maugham too.

I came upon a quote by Maugham that made me realize he too felt the way I often do, "I have most loved people who cared little or nothing for me and when people have loved me I have been embarrassed... In order not to hurt their feelings, I have often acted a passion I did not feel."

Sigh.

Location Scouting

One of the true joys of working on film is location scouting. Actually, this is a complete and total lie, because trying to secure locations is murder. But the actual driving and looking at places is wonderfully fun.

As some of you know, I am working on a film called Loop Planes. As the director Robin says, "It's the classic story of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, because boy is biologically a girl." Yep, it's about a transgender female to male 13 year old. You can read more about it here: loopplanes.com

Loop Planes takes place primarily in an amusement park and we are shooting in a little mom and pop park in Connecticut called Quassy. Last Sunday we had to go for a scout.

Oh my goodness, so so FUN! I was wearing a sun dress. Going to an amusement park in a sun dress may not be the best idea. Particularly if you have to ride rollercoasters for "research." Let's just say, I am pretty convinced a few people saw my panties...

Part of our scout was determining if we could take certain shots. All of us stood in and photos were taken as reference. In the photo below, I am playing the dad and Robin is playing the lead who is trying to fix one of the machines. Yes, I do make a great father in a skirt! The truth is, Robin doesn't look like she is fixing a machine at all, but looks rather dead. Or at least like she dropped a wrench on her head.


I am pretty excited for this shoot. It will be crazy hot in late August when we shoot and I am hoping tempers do not flare. Plus, there will always be dippin' dots, which is frankly the best part of any amusement park!

My Book

I have a book. It is an artist book (you can read what that means here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artist_book). It took me two years to make. You should buy it. Or at least look at it. 56 people I know appear in it. And they all inter-connect.

Go to Preacher's Biscuit Books. And if you don't feel like buying mine, buy a different book. Because art is important!

Driving with Michael Jackson

I sing in the car. I can't help it. Never, never when someone else is in the car with me...but almost always when I'm alone.

As everyone in the entire world knows, Michael Jackson died the day before yesterday. Already I've seen kids in my neighborhood wearing Michael Jackson 1958-2009 t-shirts! What is amazing about Michael Jackson is that for all of his weirdness in the last few years, his talent has never been questioned. There are at least three different stations in New York that are playing all Michael all weekend.

This afternoon I randomly happened to be driving a car, stuck in traffic on the west side highway. I was listening to an "All Michael All Weekend" station, singing along to P.Y.T (Pretty Young Thing), when I started to feel self-conscious because people in stopped traffic tend to look around...and a number of people were looking at me! Finally the traffic picked up. At the next light, Thriller came on. I was enjoying the Vincent Price section when something caught my out the rear view mirror. The two women in the truck behind me were dancing in the car, the exact beat to Thriller! And then they were singing along! Lip sinking the the music in my car! And I realized they were listening to the same station as I was....and so was the guy on my left. So I shrugged and thought, what would Michael do? And though the Michael in my head would be moonwalking, which didn't seem like an option since I was driving, I had to settle with singing Thriller at the top of my lungs along with everyone else in the world...or at least on the west side highway.

So, here is to you Michael Jackson...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtyJbIOZjS8

Stream of Consciousness While I can't Sleep

I have stopped sleeping. On some level this fact should concern me more than it does. Perhaps it's because I keep functioning like a normal person. I still go to the office to copy edit and write about silent women film pioneers. I am still actively in pre-production on LOOP PLANES (we're even going on a tech scout at our amusement park on Sunday--woo hoo!!!). I am making more collages than I have in years. Museum are interested in my work. I am actually writing on my blog! It sort of feels like my life is normal, except I have 20 hours a day to work instead of 16. I know this will catch up to me, but I keep thinking it would be nice if this was always how my life would be...only needing 4 hours of sleep. So today I came home from the office at 10pm (I went in at 10am) and instead of trying to sleep, I went to the laundromat and washed all my clothes and towels and sheets. By the time I got home it was 1 am. And now it's 5:30 and I've been going ever since. But the only thing I seem to be unable to do in this burst of activity is work on scripts. I really don't feel like script writing, but I feel like I need to write one more while I am at Columbia, but unless I sit down every day and start writing, it's never going to get done! I also want to direct one film next spring if I can get the money together, but that script too needs to get finished! Maybe if I spent more time writing and less time painting my nails that would help. I've been painting my nails red for the last 5 months. The last polish was sort of funky and when I took it off, it has discolored my nails. Not red, but this sickly yellow. So what do I do? I guess I have to keep painting them because my real nails look scary!

Maybe I should try sleeping again...

Denise Levertov, Seattle and my undying love of poetry

Many years ago I spent a summer in Seattle. My heart broken and stick thin, I went to work and tried to forget.
I loved Seattle like I had loved no other city. I loved that I could wear a sweater in June, always find good Vietnamese food, and lived rent free with my sister. I bought many things I still own there, including my Victrola.

I made up stories in my head about my life and surroundings, wrote long letters to the one who had broken my heart, and eventually decided to fall in love with the boy who rode the bus with me every morning. We never did speak, even though we both boarded the bus on Mercer Island and got off on the same stop downtown, swallowed up by the tall buildings where hundreds of thousands of people worked every day. I imagined he worked as an office messenger or a graphic designer for some fashionable firm. I would go to Pike Place Market at lunchtime in hopes of possibly seeing him, but after a while I gave up and started spending my lunch breaks at the public library.

I was obsessed with poetry then. I’d check out the collected poetry of Elizabeth Bishop or Sharon Olds or Marianne Moore and stay up all night reading. I remember picking up Denise Levertov, and found the perfect poem to send to the one who I, though I didn't want to admit it, still loved. It was an epic poem. I don’t even know what collection it came from. But one of the sections was titled POSTCARD, which I copied out into a notebook. I can still recall it from memory:

It’s not that I can’t get by without you
it’s just that I wasn’t lonesome
before I met you.
It’s something to do with salt losing its savor
when half of the world
one wants to share
stays in one’s pocket. Half
a crispy delicious bacon sandwich
saved. But for—Oh, like Shelley’s
posy of dewy flowers. Remember,
how he turns to give it—
Ah, to whom?

In fact, I made it into my own postcard and mailed it in hopes that the damage done between us could be mended. But some things are irretrievably broken. And now, whenever a relationship or a friendship ends, I think of the poem.  That place when there is nothing left to say, yet being acutely aware that there is a hole that will never be completely filled. Wanting to turn and share a private joke or story you know they would have loved, but doesn't matter because whatever you once had is over.

Yesterday I found a copy of the postcard I sent. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll send you one.