cinematically grounded

I watched Paris, je t'aime (2006) last night and loved it. And today I read in the Guardian critics' opinions about how major world cities have representationally "fared" on film. It's by no means an exhaustive collection of cities and films. In any case, together the film and the article have made me think about what sort of director I would be.

If you remember, I have always dreamt of being a filmmaker. And one of the biggest reasons for this, besides my passionate cinephilia, is what I call "my cinematical mind." Essentially speaking, I think of my life as a movie, and my glasses as the frame of a camera. I have an idea of what I would be like as a filmmaker. In the very least, I would want to make movies I would enjoy watching. But I think cinephilia--whether in the form of postmodern cineliteracy or through the narrative a la Cinema Paradiso (1988)--would figure prominently, and this is important because I also tend to think spatially, in terms of cultural production and consumption. That is why the Guardian article appealed to me so much, getting critics' opinions about how cities have been (mis)represented in film. Paris, je t'aime, which was not mentioned at all, is about space and cinephilia.

So the Guardian article made me think about what kind of director I would be, what geographical location or region I might be associated with. And since my life is a movie and I have spent much of the time "filming" this movie in suburban Maryland, I thought, "Clearly that is my cinematic place!" But it's not just suburban Maryland. Never mind the fact that I do have freedom as an artist to represent places and things that are not natural to my life. In other words, I could make a film in or about New York, couldn't I? It just wouldn't be as good as a Woody Allen picture, if you ask me.

My point of view as a director based in suburban Maryland, close to D.C., would be about this relationship between the suburbs and the capital. I don't know for sure if the discrepancy between the places is totally unique, completely unlike other major cities relationships to their suburbs. I find there is a dearth of films about D.C. Sure, the ones about the government may take place here but they're not filmed here. Capturing aerial shots of the National Mall may establish the scene, but it is a trite one, one that keeps non-Washingtonians from seeing D.C. apart from the monuments and "official" landmarks of national memory and history. Only two films "take place" in D.C. and go beyond this: Broadcast News (1987) and Thank You For Smoking (2005). I hesitate to call the latter a film about D.C. because it's not, and it's not really grounded here no matter how many shots of the Metro and government buildings it features.

I suppose my enthusiasm for this idea of myself as a potential suburban Maryland director comes from my recent dependence on the Metrobus system. For 21 years I'd never ridden the public bus, but now I have--and a lot. I have a deeper appreciation for those who ride it and drive it every day. But also being out of control of where and when and how often the bus stops ultimately exposes to me just how wide a space the length, for instance, of Georgia Avenue, is.

More than this though, I imagine that the frustration I feel (along with others) about how inconveniently located the Metro is from my house would figure prominently in my film(s). I mean, it already does in my life. There is this pull from the suburbs, this idea that the city is the place to find culture (museums, cinemas, concert venues, ethnic restaurants, etc.). My version of "disaffected youth" doesn't include drugs and violence; it's about wanting to have an urban experience.

And let's face it, we need someone to make films about what life is "like" just outside the capital of the world's only superpower (I hate to say it). The site needs to be demystified. A film needs to show that despite having the smartest population or whatever (San Francisco comes in second), D.C.'s majority population is of racial minorities and/or of the lower class(es). Immigrants punctuate this, too. I don't claim I can make this film because I don't know what that "life" is like, but even the acknowledgment of it would be something.

Then I think more broadly about Maryland directors. The two most famous Maryland directors are John Waters and Barry Levinson. (Can you name any other Maryland directors, period?) But their focus is on Baltimore, glimpsing it from different angles. Waters is informed by the working class "freaks" (I don't really mean they are, but he is interested in the grotesque), and Levinson is nostalgic for growing up in the 1950s. My point of view, of course, is completely different. And it is about place, too.

Now back to that Guardian article. I'm a bit disappointed that they did not mention Paris, je t'aime. Having been to Paris and seen some of the places depicted, I can't say I recognized everything. That's the fiction, the romance. But the writer-directors did consciously think about how their stories would fit into the arrondissements. Christopher Doyle's "Porte de Choisy" seemed the most grounded in its place, depicting the Chinese enclave while also staying true to his vision (as a cinematographer, he's worked with many an Asian auteur). But it's also the most outlandish, the one most like a music video, where the visuals and sounds are the feature, not so much the narrative.

The Brothers Coen's "Tuileries," while set entirely in the subway as if to position the subjects and audience in an underworld, is about stereotypes, and does nothing to challenge them. A tourist who ne comprend pas French, Steve Buscemi gets sucked into the idea that modern young romance is sexist, contradictory, confusing, and thus can be used against the unassuming when a young dude threatens violence and his girlfriend's response is to kiss Buscemi, only to let her dude beat up Buscemi. And then she leaves with her dude. See how easily the Coen sensibility can be transported to the Paris Metro? How it can be translated into French? See how cinematic Paris is as a stage?

Paris, je t'aime is about "Paris." While some people may think the film strives to represent "real life" in Paris through the eyes of a collection of internationally-renowned directors, it's not about real life. It's about romance, and no place personifies romance better than Paris.

So, what would my short be, since I am a suburban Maryland filmmaker (among other kinds of filmmaker!)? Maybe my section would try to trace the historical connection between Paris and D.C. Not just through urban planning, but maybe it could focus on L'Enfant. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what it would be, but all I can say is, "Paris, je t'aime."

love means having to say you're sorry

I fear my greatest passion is in jeopardy. As if it's slowly becoming extinct. It's still in full force in my life, but I just know that it's going to gradually slip away soon. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to start someplace else.

My greatest passion, as you know, of course, is film. Just look to the right. There are 63 posts about film in my archives.

Now, now, when I write that film is in jeopardy, I do not mean the industry is in jeopardy. (Some might disagree with me there.) What I mean is that I'm not so sure it's going to be a daily fixture in my life for much longer. And here's why:

I've already resolved to move my TV out of my room as soon as school starts. I want to take this measure so that I can concentrate on my schoolwork. This includes my regular assignments for my classes and all the reading, thinking, and writing I must do for my thesis. I figure getting rid of the TV means I won't be so distracted. Because, as you know, it's very easy for me to put in a DVD and sit back and relax. Or is it?

It's not that easy after all, I think. For me, anyway. I keep a film journal, where I write about my experience and interpretation of every film I see for the first time (or the first time in a long time). I have OCD. I must write about the movie. I know that the world will not end if I don't, but I can't not document something that important to me.

Usually, I give myself a day to write about it, but I haven't written about the last eleven movies I've seen, starting with Manhattan (1979) which I saw on July 22nd. I've penned in the films' names (in their original language), year of release, and director on the pages I hope to fill, but I have yet to write about them. And it's driving me crazy. So crazy that I want to slow down watching movies so that I don't end up with twenty movies to write about. Yes, that's right. I said, "I want to slow down watching movies."

But why am I going at such a speed, you ask? Well, I've been renting five to six movies a week from the library. I request online some of the most obscure shit in the catalogue so I hardly have to wait to pick them up at my local library. To make a long story short, before yesterday, I had fourteen movies waiting for me. I have to strategically rent them. This means I end up watching some movies first before I rent the ones I really want to see because they came in later and thus will be on hold for me longer.

In any case, with all the work going on at the house, I can barely get through all five or six movies a week. And the recent upsurge of movies available for my viewing pleasure has really annoyed not only my father but myself. He has requested that I "take it easy with the movies." I agreed that I won't request more for a long time. So this means that gradually the screening of new movies (to me) will die out.

This is perfect. It goes along with what I have planned about getting the TV out of my room. I just don't know which will happen first: the removal of the TV or the dearth of library movies available for me to rent.

I'm sorry.

lofty dreams

Today was a shorter day. But combined the last two days have seen a major overhaul of the house. To explain what has happened I would need to describe the layout of the house. And I don't particularly feel like doing that right now.

Let me just say that the house feels huge now. The living room echoes, as it is now void of almost all of its original furniture (only a blue reclining armchair remains, along with some furniture that will not stay permanently). Walking from room to room, I get the feeling I am living in a large loft. The effect the combination of the emptiness and the acoustics has is very, very surreal for lack of a better word.

I honestly can't believe we got here, and we have our handyman of a cousin to thank for it. (Thank you, Manny!)

What's left, you ask? There's a lot more recycling and organizing to do. We filled a 21-foot-long dumpster that's eight feet wide and five feet tall. It got dropped off at 7.15 this morning and it's getting picked up sometime tomorrow. Then we have to go about the house, painting the rooms. Then we'll refurnish the living room. Replace the refrigerator perhaps. Rejuvenate the beautiful hardwood floors. Recarpet the playroom-turned-storage room-turned-haven't-figured-it-out-yet room. Install blinds in my room and in the large room that used to be filled with all kinds of stuff (it has very little in it now, compared to what it was like before).

This is a very strange place to be. Yes, I do mean physically. Samson has found the building very disorienting himself. He had trouble sleeping last night because the sofas in the living room, his regular resting place at night, had been evacuated.

More than this though, I just can't believe it's happened. Finally, we just might be getting the house we deserve, the lifestyle we think we can aspire to. I mean, I have said for years that I want to clean up the house so we could actually invite people over. It never got done because no one would step up and help. And then I became lazy. I didn't believe people when they said they would help. And when the people I did believe said they'd clean up, I was in England. I guess it would only get done if I were here and had people on my side.

my cinematical mind

It should come as no surprise to you that I enjoy films and that I once (twice, thrice, four times maybe) thought I should be a filmmaker and then convinced myself otherwise each and every time. I never needed to exactly explain my position on this issue. People have either always agreed or even gone so far as to recognize that I "really like movies." It just makes sense.

Why do I want to be a filmmaker?

Glad you asked. Other than my intense interest in film production and consumption and criticism and history and etc., I fancy myself a photographer and a keen observer of the human condition. Stories fascinate me. My twenty years of watching films have greatly affected how I see the world. Literally. And my eyeglasses help frame this view. It's as if my looking out through these lenses that help me see better constitute a camera. That I can see the frame only emphasizes my self-awareness of the medium, as a director of my own life. My ears are fine-tuned to what goes on round me. I love spotting seemingly random and quotidian sounds. The absurdity of life, which I encounter everywhere, is always fodder for filmmaking. It only makes sense.

When I was in middle school and high school, I was a very depressed and lonely figure (still am to some extent, but that's another series of blog posts). Whenever something unpleasant happened to me, whether it was the nasty words and stares girls at the lockers would shoot my way or a C on a math test, I tried to forget about it. Especially the bad grades. I would tell myself, "You are not stupid. This is your life. It is a movie. It's in the script. But it's not in the script that you'll fail." Delusional, I know, but we all have our own ways of dealing. Mine was to pretend my life really was a movie and that nothing is real (even when I am the one who was unpleasant to others). I still feel this way sometimes.

Everything affects me. No matter how big or small. Some people call it ultra-sensitivity, arrogance, paranoia, etc. I don't know what to call it. I'm just uber-observant. I am so observant that I notice things before others and pretend not to notice at all. So as to avoid talking or arguing about it.

No one else is going to make a movie out of my ideas. I may have these ideas and joke that I wish someone would make them into films, but they're not going to.

A piece of advice that I collected while talking with a documentarian: "make sure you choose the right medium for your idea. You make think you want to make a movie, but it might be better as a short or hell, even a novel or short story." I admit some of my ideas shouldn't be films, but every time I have an idea, I see it played out in front of me like my pseudo-dreams. (I call them "pseudo" because I am awake while they take place and I consciously manipulate what happens.)

More to the point: it's not enough to analyze and write about films. Through discussion of films--whether verbal or written--there is always a lesson, or at least some indication of what to do or avoid in fixing my idea onto celluloid. In other words, my study of film has taught me how to be a filmmaker. How Tarantinian of me.

I have the French New Wave manifesto of le politique des auteurs to thank for this one. And also how filmmakers since them have interpreted this ideology that the filmmaker is an artist and how he or she uses the camera to tell a story is highly personalized, even if it's a collage of styles. How unexpected to be inspired by Luc Besson's Subway (1985)! A film that, according to the comments I scribbled in my film journal upon watching it for the first time, I didn't like or dislike.

I'm a postmodernist. I'm forever making connections. And I could go on. Probably will.

i love the 80s

You know very well by now I spend a lot of time every day listening to RadioIO80s. I am almost convinced I am the only person who does. Of course this isn't the case. How else would they stay in business? It's just--because no one else I know listens to it, I feel like it's all mine. We have this sort of thing in our lives all over the place, don't we? We're convinced no one else does/likes whatever it is because we can't see outside of ourselves, out of our own universes where we're the sun.

Oh, this is not the post I wanted to write. R.E.M. is playing again. Have I told you I can't stand them? Talk about twangy and sounding the same all the time. But this is neither here nor there.

What I wanted this to be about was my love of 80s music. If you ask me, it is the best decade in music. Sure, we couldn't have gotten here without what came before. And we wouldn't be where we are now without 80s music to some degree. Please don't get me wrong, I am not thinking in strictly causal terms here.

In any case, I recently thought that I would like to work with music. This sounds really vague. No, I can't play an instrument (I have no rhythm whatsoever) and I can't sing. And I don't want to review records or concerts. And I don't want to write biographies or film documentaries about obscure/long-forgotten/influential artists (take your pick). What I want to do is write about 80s music within the scope of my own interests, as a bit of cultural criticism. I don't have a general subject that interests me, but I am fascinated by the image/performance that musical acts such as Adam and the Ants and Bow Wow Wow projected/represented.

Is it possible to study musical lyrics as poetry in English departments?

¡viva el español!

Being engulfed this academic year in only European Studies courses has had a tremendous effect on me in numerous ways. However, right now, I will only discuss the two major (and long-lasting) effects:

1. I miss American Studies. Of course the concepts and ideas, readings, and cultural history that I had studied at home about America has greatly aided me in my study of Europe. But it is sometimes frustrating when my classmates don't know certain concepts. For example, in a class on the cross-cultural narrative with final-year students, I was the only one familiar with the terms anthropology, ethnography, postcolonialism (as Brits, how could they not know this one?), postmodernism, etc. The seminar group depended on my explanations of what they were because I was the only one who dared to tackle defining the terms.

I also miss American Studies because all I do is study Europe. Of course I chose this concentration in my major coursework for comparison, but sometimes you really just can't bring in America all the time. I'm often itching in my seat to comment comparatively, but if I do, it would be a digression. Race, for instance, is not the same, and you'd think it didn't matter at all in my courses sometimes. But at least I can still talk about gender till everyone's blue in the face.

2. I miss my language studies. Over the two terms, I have taken three country-specific courses: Spanish film, Spanish cultural studies, and French film. The courses on offer here in the European Studies Department are fantastic. I would love to take them all, but I can't because they are conducted in the individual languages. (My three are in English.)

I quit studying languages when I quit linguistics. I was spreading myself too thinly by trying to study three languages at once since high school. In subsequent years, I have lost so much Spanish, I fear. I used to be a really good writer, and I can only understand and read Spanish now. (I could never speak it, which is why I quit.)

I'd been enchanted by French off and on. The last time I formally studied it, it was an intensive elementary review over a year ago. I haven't lost much since then, but since I am in two Spanish courses this year and listening to it is always a delight, I feel that it is tempting me to start up again. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for abandoning it for French, and I don't know if I am prepared to abandon French for Spanish, either. All I know for certain is: I cannot have both. I won't progress. I need to concentrate. I'm so indecisive.

My friend Denise helped to quell my anxiety over my pervasive indecisiveness. She said if I can't decide between two things, then clearly I don't want either one enough so I don't need to choose. This is not to say that I should necessarily choose a third. I don't need to choose anything.

Oh, but I miss Spanish. In high school, it was my favorite subject. It was the only way I studied (any) culture. I was a good writer and I loved to read it. How could I ever have convinced myself to give it up? Why didn't anyone remind me of what it made me feel? Confident. Even if I couldn't speak it.

You heard it here first: I think I want to continue studying Spanish formally. Besides, it complements my burgeoning interest in Latin American history, cinema, culture, etc. Especially Mexico's.

if i were orson...

Weeks ago, I thumbed through the top ten best films ever made, according to tens of directors and critics from around the world. Repetitive, to be sure. But it got me thinking: maybe I should compile my own list. Although, I don't think there are ten films that I would rank so highly. (Perhaps it's stupid to rank them anyway.) And the thought of any one of these directors or critics seeing my list made me feel embarrassed. Sorry, there's nothing really old.

And so I've compromised. Here is a list of five films that would influence me if I were a film director:

24 Hour Party People (2002): My favorite film, yes. But I like it for the same reasons that would influence me as a director. The subject matter itself is terrific: a social history of Manchester through music. That our guide through the times, Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan), is aware that the film is just a reconstruction of past events and feels the need to constantly remind us of this, is ingeniously postmodern. As if the mix of archive footage with reenactments wasn't enough.

Elsker dig for evigt aka Open Hearts (2002): As is characteristic of all Dogme95 films, the emphasis is on the interaction between or among people, their dynamic and complicated relationships with each other. To come up with a story as simple as this but weighs so heavily on your heart (as corny as this sounds) would be quite an achievement. I would want to make a film that expresses how heartwrenching it is to really, really want someone.

Marie Antoinette (2006): Even though I think Sofia Coppola is an idiot (the things she says! aloud! to other people! to the press!), I can appreciate her brave interpretation of history. Her unmatched ability to compile a soundtrack and set it to stunning visuals is what influences me as a would-be director. I kind of hate her for using my Adam and the Ants.

Under the Tuscan Sun (2003): I know. You certainly weren't expecting this. It's one of the very best romantic comedies because the romance is not between a man and a woman who must go through all the trials and tribulations before seeing they can stick together for all time. It's about a woman realizing that she shouldn't give up. The best line in the film comes when she tells her pregnant lesbian gal-pal Patti, "You are my love life." She finds the love you're expecting her to find, but it is the relationships she has with others (specifically Patti) that really express the love. Plus, I just really want to re-invent the romantic comedy genre. Breathe some new life into it.

Stealing Beauty (1996): Not everything is spelled out for you. Characters you never see or hear loom over everyone. They have a sort of presence and mystery that the characters you see in most films can only ever wish of having. The obsessive writing down of thoughts and collecting odds and ends--I can relate to that, too. Introspective and sensitive individuals make the best leads, and if I were a director, they'd head the cast.