how to work the room

I've been to a lot of film industry cocktails over the years and have learned a few things about "working the room". If you have a project that you want to get off the ground, or a film you want to get programmed, or are trying to get anything out of anybody (which, sadly, most of us in the film game are), you need to learn how to schmooze.

-          If you're not invited to the party, don't walk up to the registration desk and give them a long-winded spiel about how you forgot your invitation. Stay cool. Hang around until you see someone you know, then go in with them. When all else fails, act like you're on the list.

-          Once inside, don't look like you're working the room. Don't be phony. If you start looking over someone's shoulder trying to see someone more important to talk to, you will make them angry and you don't want any enemies. Find a way to make a graceful exit if you absolutely must talk to someone else (being honest is usually a good way).

-          You want to work with your friends, so go out there and make some friends! You'll never be able to work with anyone you don't get along with, so should you get a chance to talk to that big producer with the fat wallet and he just rubs you the wrong way, you're probably barking up the wrong tree. 

-          Never dismiss anybody's assistant, because they're closer to your level and have more influence with their boss than you realize. Also, in a year or two they may be the next big thing.

-          Don't know how to get a conversation started? Ask someone where they're from--that's always a good way to get things going. Whatever you do, don't stand there and talk about yourself (especially not your project); ask them questions. It is a great way to get to know people, and that is what this is all about. Whatever you do, don't get into a rant about how much rejection you're getting and how much the funding-agency-who-shall-remain-nameless sucks; keep it positive.

-          Most of all, don't ever force a pitch on someone. If the topic should come up, wait until they say "What is it about?" before you unleash it on them. If they don't ask, follow up with them at a later date when they're in a more "work" frame of mind. (Be sure to ask for business cards.)

Remember, the worst that can happen is nothing. The best thing that can happen is that you'll meet some like-minded people you can talk to at other industry cocktails. After all, anyone who is going to get involved with your project has to be willing to walk over broken glass for you, and that kind of relationship can't really be formed over the course of a 5-7 cocktail. These events are generally pretty useless, so you may as well take advantage of some free booze and hors d'oeuvres.

dark days: a dispatch from the rendez-vous

The programming of this year's Rendez-vous du cinéma québécois, rapidly becoming Montreal's hottest film festival, follows a definite pattern of darkness. Death and mourning, disability and disfigurement, assisted suicide, child abuse and suburban angst are some of the issues du jour among young, francophone filmmakers. (So much so that this was the subject of a panel discussion.)

Having seen Maxime Giroux's Jo pour Jonathan and Sophie Deraspe's Signes vitaux in the same weekend (both finely crafted, emotional heavy-hitters), I'm feeling a little exhausted and the festival is only half over. I have a high threshold for difficult material, but the sense of malaise is so deep one can't help but wonder what's causing it.

Maybe it's the suburbanization of the Quebec landscape; maybe it's the fading of the Seperatist dream. Whatever the cause, it seems the more Hollywood cranks out vacuous franchise pulp, the further Quebec filmmakers go in the opposite direction, delving into the dark truths of human existence. I greatly respect these young talents for tackling such weighty subject matter even though it may be hard to take.

Nowhere else on earth would these films get made, let alone stand a chance of breaking even at the box office. Today's Quebec films are proof that the cinema can be more than meaningless entertainment when the conditions are right. One can only hope that the audience won't abandon ship.

decoding lafleur

Stéphane Lafleur's first feature, Continental, un film sans fusil won accolades at festivals around the world, but divided audiences into two distinct categories: those who "got" it (and loved it) and those who didn't.

Everyone has a hard time describing Lafleur's work, including the filmmaker himself. Operating in a gray zone between tragic comedy and comic tragedy, he deftly walks the line between funny and sad. One thing is certain: people love to talk about his films because they are so mystifying.

In the considerable media buzz around the première of his sophomore film, En terrains connus (watch the trailer in French here), it's hard to find a reviewer willing to guess at what it means. So, I offer you my own humble interpretation; if you don't want it to influence your viewing, I invite you to stop reading now and come back once you've seen the film (it opens locally on Friday the 18th).

In a recent interview, Lafleur credits a single image as the catalyst for this film: a man from the future gives someone a warning that is ultimately ignored. The media has made much of this figure, grasping on to him as a recognizable archetype from science fiction. In my opinion, the Man from the Future is nothing but a trigger for the real story to begin.

In his opening remarks before the première, Lafleur dedicated the screening to his sister, and I can see why. En terrains connus is about Benoit and Maryse, a brother and sister in a bleak suburban setting who tentatively form a bond five years after the death of their mother. This sounds simple, but the telling is far from conventional and demands much of the audience, especially at the beginning while the through-line takes its time to emerge. The viewer's patience is rewarded with a surprisingly moving ending and a unique insight into the brother-sister relationship.

After the screening, a friend remarked on the recurring motif of hands; Maryse witnesses an accident in which a man loses an arm, Benoit scrapes up his hands while punching a snowman to bits and at one point yells, "Look at these hands! Everything I touch turns to shit!" In this film, hands represent power and control; only once Benoit develops a connection with his sister does he gain some power in his life.

Even more than story, Lafleur is adept at creating atmosphere. Obviously drawn to the sadness of kitsch, he creates characters too unsophisticated to live in stylish houses, surrounded instead by sad-sack, worn-out clutter (i.e. a snowmobile that only their father can start and a light-box designed by their mother to combat the winter blues). His films celebrate the absurdity of life through seemingly random encounters in the environments he so deliberately creates.

Don’t mistake this for pretension—Stéphane is the most unpretentious person you will ever meet. His films focus on awkwardness because in his eyes, there is no drama in perfect, emotionally intelligent characters with good taste in clothes who always know what to say and do.

It is useless to impose logic on something that is supposed to be surreal. However, Lafleur is not maliciously trying to pull the wool over anyone's eyes. Although his work may appear heavily coded, he is simply faithful to his own unique voice, creating meaningful emotions disguised as randomness. This is no small feat, a brave choice that he admits is bound to lose some viewers along the way (although the room last night was on its feet). I wish him much success with the film and with his career, which is off to a most brilliant start.

valentine's day viewing

Here are my recommendations if you're looking for something to watch with your sweetheart tonight:

Un homme et une femme (1966)

I’m going to come out and say that this is probably the most romantic film ever made. A woman, still grieving the loss of her stuntman husband, falls for a race-car driver who is also recovering from a broken heart. Sounds simple, but it’s the marvellous execution that sets this one apart.

Brokeback Mountain (2005)

Forget the fact that this movie is about gay cowboys. It is a beautiful, universal tragedy about two people who love each other but can’t be together. The scene where Ennis Del Mar, played by Heath Ledger, is clutching his dead lover’s old shirt is one of the most moving moments on film.

In the Mood for Love (2000)

Wong Kar Wai’s classic gem is just as remarkable for its atmosphere as its story. One of the most beautifully-photographed films in recent times, the music, languid pace and rich colours will truly put you in the mood.

Big Love (2006-2011)

This is not a movie, but a fantastic HBO show now entering its final season. Well worth watching from the beginning, it tells the story of a fictional modern-day polygamist family in Utah dealing with universal issues of marriage, belief and intolerance. Featuring a complex family tree of brilliantly drawn characters and more plot twists than a soap opera, this show will keep you chained to the screen for hours.

take a trip

Nothing beats a good comedy to lift your spirits in the dead of winter. A friend recently introduced me to killer BBC miniseries The Trip, directed by acclaimed filmmaker Michael Winterbottom, and I am now totally hooked. 

After a few initial excerpts, I thought it was just an impression pissing-contest between two extremely egotistical (although brilliant) comedians. But when I sat down to watch the whole thing in sequence, I quickly saw there’s much more to it. 

The concept of the show is that Steve Coogan is invited on a restaurant tour of Northern England by The Observer magazine. His marriage on the rocks and his wife out of the country, he asks colleague Rob Brydon along as a last resort. Coogan plays himself as a self-doubting, dissatisfied artist with a bruised ego, married to a woman so out of his league he’s expecting to lose her at any minute. Brydon, on the other hand, is happily married with a baby, completely satisfied with his career and confident in his abilities. This contrast makes for great dramatic tension and hilarious bits as they try to outdo each other with spot-on impressions of Roger Moore, Al Pacino, Steven Hawking and too many others to name. 

Winterbottom has edited the six episodes down into a feature film distributed in the US by IFC. But, if you want to see the series in its uncut perfection, get thee to YouTube, where you’ll find the whole thing online. 

Yet another example of how TV is outdoing the cinema these days. More on that another time....

spoiled rotten

I promised myself I would refrain from commenting on the politics of the Canadian film industry in this blog, but sometimes I feel like we don't realize how good we have it here. 

It's true that, in the entertainment marketplace, it's like trying to run an independent variety store right next to a Wal-Mart. It is incredibly difficult to attract a mass audience when your neighbors have all the buying power and spend more on marketing than you are able to spend on your product. But we do have certain advantages.

I tried explaining the Canadian funding game to an American filmmaker friend once. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that we can get government funding for everything from zombie movies to hard-core experimental cinema. Meanwhile, he and his colleagues are forced to hustle their butts off either working their way up the industry ladder or scraping together donations from wealthy relations to get their films made.

Although I admit that there are many problems with our system, at least we Canadians have a hope of getting films that aren't based on video game or TV franchises made. Heck, we can even get paid to write screenplays by a government that we may or may not have voted for! (In my province, they even have a special piece of the pie set aside for those under age 35--imagine!)

We should remind ourselves that filmmaking is a privilege; as those March 1st deadlines loom, let's thank our lucky stars for even a shot at funding. We should also stop blaming the system and the audience for our shortcomings, and take responsibility for our national cinema. The focus should be on telling great stories, and I believe the rest will work itself out.

Maybe we should use our imaginations for a change (this is supposed to be a creative industry, after all) and try out some alternative distribution models. If we hustled half as hard as the Americans do, who knows what might happen?

There. Now that that's off my chest, you will likely not hear about this issue from me in a long, long time.

cabin fever

For those of us in cold climates, here is where the winter starts to feel long. What better way to combat cabin fever than tramping through the snow to pick up a movie rental (and maybe a bottle of the hard stuff)?

Here are some of my picks for this time of year:

Night of the Iguana (1964)

Can't afford a holiday in Mexico? Let Tenessee Williams' screenplay, John Huston's direction and Gabriel Figueroa's beautiful black & white cinematography take you there. Featuring a racy ménage-à-trois in the moonlit waves, the logline from the trailer cautions: "Since man has known woman--never has there been such a night!" (The film is much less campy than the trailer makes it look.)

Bus Stop (1956)

This lighter-than-air Marilyn Monroe vehicle is perfect viewing if you're snowed in. A hunky cowboy falls hard for a saloon singer at the Phoenix rodeo; determined to make her his wife, he forces her onto a bus bound for his Montana ranch. On the way, a snowstorm blocks the road ahead, giving her the chance to escape--but will she take it? This film comes from the golden age of romantic comedies when pure, unselfconscious kitsch melded with three-strip technicolor to create absolute enjoyment. 

Frozen River (2008)

I adored this micro-budget crime drama, its gripping story making up for a few technical weaknesses. Melissa Leo is enthralling as a desperate single mother in need of some quick cash, who smuggles illegal immigrants across the border via the frozen St. Laurence river. This one should be taught in film schools as an example of excellent screenwriting, and scores big for its gritty atmosphere and nail-biting suspense.

Winter's Bone (2010)

My favorite film of the past year, I am glad to see it in contention for several Oscars. Similar to Frozen River, this indie suspense thriller delivers big bang on a small buck. A teenage girl in the Ozark Mountains must find her meth-dealing father or lose their farm to the bond he put against it. The mafia-like codes of the neighboring clans and the vividly-captured setting are fertile ground for drama. Fantastic performances, creative doc-style b-roll and a cliffhanger ending make it one hell of a good movie, anytime of the year.

Moon  (2009)

This one will remind you that the winter isn't so bad after all. Just think: at least you're not trapped on the moon! A third of the way in, I thought it was just an imitation of 2001: Space Odyssey (in retrospect I am sure this was deliberate) but then it veers off in another direction and becomes its own, unique entity. Major props to first-time writer/director Duncan Jones for carrying off this ambitious sci-fi project on a small budget.

My Winnipeg (2007)

No one knows winter better than Winnipegers. Guy Maddin shows us what it's like to sleepwalk through the worst of it with quirky humor and quasi-fabricated myths about his hometown. At times hilarious, at times hypnotic, this genre-bending docu-drama racked up acclaim around the world, showing that you don't have to be Canadian to be reeled in by its spell (although it can't hurt).

Fargo (1996)

This dark comedy by the Cohen brothers, set in the windswept prairie of North Dakota, is a rare combination of laughs and chills. The screenplay is magnificent and Frances McDormand's brilliant performance as a (very) pregnant cop takes the cake. My idea of a perfect movie.

The Shining (1980)

Another obvious choice, this is the definitive film about cabin fever. Forget Jack Nicholson--for me, one of the eeriest moments in all cinema is the steadicam shot of the little boy riding his tricycle through the empty hotel hallways. Even though I've seen it probably a dozen times, it still gives me goosebumps. A true masterpiece.

resolutions revisited

One month into the New Year and fully back in the swing of things, I figure it's a good time to remind myself of the resolutions I made during the holidays when I was feeling well-rested and ambitious. Here they are: 

Be less practical. This doesn’t just apply to my choice of shoes. I have a tendency to self-censor and let concerns over logistics get in the way of a good idea. (Stuff like, “Oh, I can’t write that scene because it will be too expensive to shoot…”) I should let others tell me that something can’t be done instead of thinking it myself.  

Trust in my imagination. Taking the first resolution one step further, this means forgetting about what seems “believable” or “realistic”, and embracing the ideas that seem far-fetched. As good old Robert McKee puts it, “Think the unthinkable, then rationalize it after.” All good fiction is at least a little bit far-fetched, after all. The audience will believe it if it’s well-motivated and makes emotional sense. 

Be more patient. Yes, this applies to grocery checkouts and such, but more importantly it applies to my chosen art form. Making films is not a race; it is a glacially slow process, especially if you have a day job like me. I tend to be overly goal-oriented and get discouraged if I don’t meet my self-imposed objectives. I have learned it’s more satisfying to set goals on short-term basis instead of trying to look years into the future. It’s amazing what you can accomplish in six months if you just keep chipping away for a few hours a week! 

Be more positive. This one explains the quasi-motivational angle of this blog (and the third resolution). As I explained in the very first post, I tend to be the type to question everything, and like many artists, am in the habit of drifting towards negative thoughts. My new outlook leaves a little space for this, but focuses on trying to “snap out of it” at will. The thing about melancholy is that although it can be a source of inspiration, it is also a huge productivity-killer. When you only have one day a week to work on your art, you need to be able to force your productivity into high-gear.  

So, how have I been doing with these so far? Not too bad. Of course I still think things like, “If I had only bought a house ten years ago instead of spending all my money on films…” or, “Who am I kidding? Do I really have it in me?” but I’m trying to retrain myself to forget all of that and focus on the way ahead. Regrets and insecurity will get you nowhere.