Wednesday, July 23, 2014


Bay Area Now (BAN), Yerba Buena Center for the Arts' (YBCA) signature triennial, has for six years running brought to life current perspectives for both YBCA and the regional art scene through the work of artists who capture the spirit of "now." In its seventh edition, BAN7 is experimenting with a new curatorial approach that highlights collaborations with the region's artists and arts organizations and pushes beyond presentation—what Dina Iordanova terms "descending programming"—toward a multidisciplinary celebration of the diversity of artistic practices in the Bay Area.

BAN7's core idea is to decentralize the curatorial process, and centralize the public presentation of some of the most exciting artistic voices in the region today. As a common shared site for the presentation of works, BAN7 aims to create a lucid web of creative activity in the Bay Area. Their vision is to create a platform for new work and experimentation rooted in the belief that a decentralized curatorial process will open up an opportunity for a wider range of voices and create spaces for dialogue beyond the arts.

In conjunction with BAN7's core curatorial initiative, Joel Shepard, YBCA's Film / Video Curator assembled this Summer's film program "Invasion of the Cinemaniacs" to inflect that initiative. As he states it in his curatorial statement: "When I took this job at YBCA over 15 years ago, I decided immediately that I would not be the only curatorial voice that got to be heard in our Screening Room. I knew very well what a smart and engaged film community we had here, and knew it would be a big mistake to try to speak for all those individuals and communities. My solution then was to make partnerships with a great number of local media organizations, who would host weekly or monthly screenings here. These included groups such as the SF Jewish Film Festival, Film Arts Foundation, Cine Acción, Frameline, Goethe-Institut, San Francisco Cinematheque, and many more. Some of these groups are now long gone, some are alive and well. And some still do regular screenings here.

" 'Invasion of the Cinemanaics!' presented as part of BAN7, is really an extension of this original impulse, but takes it to a deeper, different level. There is a community in San Francisco of avid cinephiles. You might not know their names, but you've seen them around. Some of them write excellent blogs about the local film scene. I wanted to celebrate these folks, who are so strongly invested in local film exhibition, but generally don't get to have a say in what actually gets screened. I realized I could take this idea a little further, and reach out into the world of film criticism, publicity, and other areas where people were building communities around screenings, like Meetup groups.

"I asked everyone to choose a film of special significance to them, without any restrictions. We only had enough slots for ten people (plus one super-sized sidebar event presented by Jesse Hawthorne Ficks), but we could have had a lot more. Many great, dedicated people got left out—for now. But, this was such fun to put together we will definitely do it again, so stay tuned. And the film program, taken as a whole, is amazing. We've got an incredible diversity of some very rare, stunning films. Where else would you find classic Korean cinema next to Mexican psychodrama, alongside Douglas Fairbanks, Charles Bronson, and camp icon Maria Montez? Join us for this unique experiment in film curating."

Imagine my delight in being invited to be among the first wave of "cinemaniacs" to offer a film to this significant, brave program. As a former anthropologist, urban models of the core and periphery have long captured my imagination and my intellect and—in many ways—my current lifestyle of frequently shifting between the San Francisco Bay Area and my (now relatively) new home in Boise, Idaho has been living practice of how cultural flows operate and traffic. By what I have offered the Bay Area over the last decade through entries on The Evening Class, I understand that I will always be recognized as a San Franciscan, even if I reside somewhere else, and Joel Shepard's invitation to join the Cinemaniacs series was respectful confirmation of that. My only regret is that I'm unable to catch all of the series in person, though I will fortunately be able to catch several.

The Hole by Tsai Ming-liang, Courtesy Celluloid Dreams
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"Invasion of the Cinemaniacs" kicked off this past Sunday with publicist Karen Larsen's choice of The Hole (1998), a "gonzo gem" from Taiwan by Tsai Ming-liang, screened in 35mm. Somewhere in Taiwan, the rain won't stop. A mysterious disease reaches epidemic proportions. A young man uses the giant hole in his living room floor to spy on his downstairs neighbor, a woman who stockpiles toilet paper and dreams of singing and dancing… The Hole is Tsai Ming-liang's craziest and most entertaining film, a tragicomic tale of urban loneliness.

In the early '70s, Karen Larsen founded Larsen Associates, a public relations firm specializing in independent feature and documentary films, film festivals, and special events.

The Company by Robert Altman, Courtesy Sony Pictures Classics
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Tomorrow evening, Thursday, July 24, filmbud Brian Darr selects The Company (2003), an underrated film from the end of Robert Altman's oeuvre. Robert Altman's penultimate theatrical film allowed him to apply his classic approach of "community as character" to an existing organism: Chicago's Joffrey Ballet. By integrating actors Malcolm McDowell (as fictional Artistic Director Alberto Antonelli), Neve Campbell (as a striving dancer), and James Franco (as her romantic interest) into a cast of real professional dancers and choreographers, Altman gracefully pirouettes between subtle observational drama and the magnetic forces of star charisma. In chronicling a typical season of a 21st century arts institution, his camera rarely captured such spectacular motion and color. The result is arguably his most underrated and Wiseman-esque masterwork.

Brian Darr was born and raised in San Francisco and currently works in the San Francisco Public Library's audiovisual department. In 2005 he founded the blog Hell On Frisco Bay, and has been highlighting local film screenings there (and more recently on Twitter as @HellOnFriscoBay) ever since. He's also written essays for the San Francisco Silent Film Festival, Senses of Cinema, Fandor, and the 2013 book World Film Locations: San Francisco.

Here is the remaining schedule:

Colorado Territory by Raoul Walsh, Courtesy Warner Bros
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Jonathan L. Knapp presents Colorado Territory (1949, 94 min, 35mm) by Raoul Walsh on Sunday, July 27, 2:00PM. A remake of his film High Sierra (1941), Walsh's noir western inhabits a space not far removed from that of his broody Pursued (1947). As in High Sierra, here we have the tale of an aging criminal (Joel McCrea) convinced to pull one last heist. But of course things go awry: there's double crossing, a love triangle (Dorothy Malone and especially Virginia Mayo do great work here), and the general sense that the past is an inescapable force that must be reckoned with. Ghosts haunt the landscape of Colorado Territory, proving that the shadows of postwar Hollywood stretched far beyond the dark city.

Jonathan L. Knapp has spent nearly a decade in the local film community, whether through writing for the San Francisco Bay Guardian, or working for film festivals such as the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival and Frameline. After several years at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, Knapp came to YBCA, where he has worked for the past three years as Film / Video Curatorial Assistant. Simultaneously, he completed an MA in cinema studies at San Francisco State University, and is leaving his position at YBCA this summer to pursue doctoral work in film and visual studies.

Death Wish 3 by Michael Winner, Courtesy Park Circus
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Cheryl Eddy presents Death Wish 3 (1985, 92 min, 35mm) by Michael Winner on Saturday, August 9, 7:30 PM. His wife is murdered in Death Wish (1974). His daughter gets it in Death Wish II (1982). So in 1985's Death Wish 3, architect-turned-vigilante Paul Kersey (stone-cold Charles Bronson) has ascended to his true form: lone wolf with a heart of gold—and a white-hot temper. (You just can't keep a justice-loving man with access to a jaw-dropping array of firepower down, especially when New York City is crawling with so many violent scumbags.) Bleak and relentlessly brutal, Death Wish 3 is classic exploitation cinema with a distinctly 1980s flair; its villains are a street gang that manages to be both sinister and cartoonish ("They killed the Giggler!"), and its synth-heavy score is by none other than Jimmy Page.

Cheryl Eddy is the Senior Arts and Entertainment Editor at the San Francisco Bay Guardian, where she has worked since 1999. She holds an MA in cinema studies from San Francisco State University and is a member of the San Francisco Film Critics Circle.

Madame Freedom by Han Hyeong-mo, Courtesy Korean Film Archive
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Adam Hartzell presents Madame Freedom (1956, 125 min, 35mm) by Han Hyeong-mo on Sunday, August 10, 2:00PM. As Steven Chung, the Korean Studies scholar based at Princeton, notes, "the women's melodrama of the late 1950s was arguably one of the most important and influential of the period's mass cultural products." Melodrama is still a huge part of South Korean film, so much so that it seeps into other genres such as horror or war films. And the key melodrama of the 1950s was Han Hyung-mo's Madame Freedom, about a woman who flirts with a rapidly modernizing and westernizing South Korea. Come check out the fancy cafes, mambo dance halls, and French fashions of Gangnam Style, pre-Psy, in this classic film.

Adam Hartzell has been writing for the premier English-language website on South Korean cinema,, since 2000. He has been published in The Cinema of Japan and Korea (Wallflower Press) and Directory of World Cinema: South Korea (Intellect Books). He has written often about the films of Hong Sangsoo, and recently presented a paper on his work at the Society for Cinema and Media Studies.

Hell Without Limits by Arturo Ripstein, Courtesy IMCINE
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Michael Guillén presents Hell Without Limits (El Lugar Sin Límites, 1978, 110 min, 35mm) by Arturo Ripstein on Saturday, August 23, 7:30PM. Less than five years after the American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1973, Mexican filmmaker Arturo Ripstein bravely challenged entrenched social presumptions by inspiring compassion for the figure of La Manuela (Roberto Cobo), a not-very-attractive, elderly, cross-dressing whorehouse flamenco dancer at odds with the town's patriarch and his hired henchman Pancho (Gonzalo Vega), both of whom are intent on seizing Manuelita's properties. Complicating matters, La Manuela desires Pancho despite himself and seduces Pancho's own conflicted reciprocity. In a dazzling gender provocation, Ripstein maneuvers the narrative's power struggles to a choreographed denouement between the most feminized and the most machismo of men. Arturo Ripstein will be in attendance.

The Exile by Max Ophuls, Courtesy Universal
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David Wong presents The Exile (1947, 95 min, 35mm) by Max Ophuls on Sunday, August 24, 2:00PM. The Exile overlays a familiar fable—that of the incognito prince in love with a commoner—onto the historical exile of England's Charles II to Holland in the 1650s. Director Max Ophuls got on well with producer-star-co-writer Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and was given free rein stylistically. Ophuls's trademark camera fluidity and compositional intricacy—used to devastatingly heartrending effect when tracing the psychological confinement of his female protagonists—achieve a more muted poignancy when utilized to underscore his outsider male protagonists' longing for the simple rituals of ordinary human connectedness.

David Wong writes: "I first began to take film seriously during a 1979 Francois Truffaut retrospective at the UC Theatre, Berkeley and have been attending local screenings with near full-time intensity since about 1980. I remain indebted to Professor Kaja Silverman, whose film theory classes at Cal in the early 1990s helped fill in the gaps created by mere film-viewing alone, and also to Max Ophuls, whose detached yet acutely-sensitive renderings of profound human emotion serve as a constant reminder of what is most valuable about cinema."

Pietà by Kim Ki-duk, Courtesy Drafthouse Films
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Alby Lim presents Pietà (2012, 104 min, digital) by Kim Ki-duk on Thursday, September 18, 7:30PM. Nobody likes Korean filmmaker Kim Ki-duk—you can only either hate him or love him. His movies aren't just dark; they're ugly, bleak, cheaply made, and just plain hard to watch. But they also explore human nature like few other movies do, and they win prizes for it. Take Pietà, Golden Lion winner for best film at the Venice Film Festival, about a ruthless debt collector whose life falls into turmoil when he meets a woman who may be his long-lost mother. It's savage, even a little preposterous, but it'll make you think long after its closing credits roll.

As organizer of The Red Lantern: Bay Area Asian Cinephiles, the world's largest Meetup for Asian films, Alby Lim hosts Asian film events in San Francisco and beyond.

Little Fugitive by Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin, & Ray Ashley, Courtesy The Film Desk
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Lynn Cursaro presents Little Fugitive (1970, 8 min, 16mm) by Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin, and Ray Ashley on Sunday, September 21, 2:00PM. Seven-year old Joey, tricked into thinking he has shot his brother, runs off to Coney Island, convinced he can never return home, and a gentle, bittersweet adventure begins. Co-directors Ruth Orkin and Morris Engel had impressive careers in photojournalism before they ventured into film. The immediacy and beauty of this tale of yearning have all the elements of the best street photography of the golden era of Life and Look magazines. As spunky and independent as its young hero, the film had a profound effect on François Truffaut's The 400 Blows, and D.A. Pennebaker said, "It spurred us all on." Preceded by the short Sun by Stelios Roccos.

Local film-goer Lynn Cursaro also curates 16mm treasures at SF's Oddball Archive, where she's on the lookout for wacky educational films and '30s curios. A staunch believer in film, she does not own a DVD player nor does she "stream."

The Brides of Dracula by Terence Fisher, Courtesy Universal
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David Robson presents The Brides Of Dracula (1960, 85 min, 35mm) by Terence Fisher on Thursday, September 25, 7:30PM. On her way to a new job in Transylvania, comely schoolteacher Marianne accepts the hospitality of the mysterious Baroness Meinster. The innocent Marianne accidentally unleashes a hideous evil from the dungeons of Castle Meinster, one which follows her to her new assignment. Marianne's depraved new suitor threatens her very soul, until Professor Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) arrives to even the odds. This early entry in Hammer Films' famous horror cycle balances sumptuous Gothic atmosphere with full-tilt vampire action, and remains a fan favorite to this day.

David Robson holds a degree in theatre from the University of Virginia. He worked at YBCA for several years, during which time he programmed series of films by Phil Karlson and Alex Cox. He currently serves as Editorial Director for Jaman, a website that offers users a smarter search for movies online. He also blogs at the House of Sparrows.

Saturday, July 12, 2014


In its 18th edition, the Fantasia International Film Festival returns to Montreal's freshly renovated Concordia Hall Cinema July 17 through August 5, 2014, offering a whopping three weeks of World, International, North American and Canadian premieres spanning a panoply of genres.

French cartoonist Riad Sattouf's Jacky au royaume des filles (Jacky in the Kingdom of Women, 2014) [official site] opens the festivities. Drawing from his Syrian background, Sattouf's Jacky satirically upends the Cinderella story by visiting the Kingdom of Bubunne, where women are in power while men wear veils and do domestic tasks. Jacky (Vincent Lacoste)—a lovely young man who dreams of marrying the "Colonelle" (Charlotte Gainsbourg)—is the Cinderfella struggling to realize his dreams in Sattouf's imaginary iron-fisted matriarchy.

Boasting its World Premiere at Rotterdam, Jacky won that festival's esteemed MovieZone Award, joining the ranks of such notable films as Catherine Breillat's Fat Girl (2001), Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis (2007), Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire (2008), and Xavier Dolan's I Killed My Mother (2009), to name a few. Twitch contributor Kees Geuze dispatched that the film's inversion of gender roles provided several hilarious situations, spoofing not only traditional male/female relations but also authoritative dictatorial rule. Geuze likened the People's Republic of Bubunne to North Korea with, of course, the main difference being that the Supreme Leader of Bubunne is a woman. At the Rotterdam Q&A, Vincent Lacoste recounted that he prepared for his role by allowing the younger women in the cast to use him as a slave. At The Hollywood Reporter, Jordan Mintzer characterized Jacky as "parts Cinderella and Barbarella, with lots of Zucker Bros.-style zaniness tossed in." In his Fantasia capsule, Simon Laperrière offers: "In these heavy times filled with bad news in which the very mention of values make people fume, we were in dire need of some acidic criticism of this unfortunate collective situation to bring things back into focus. The hilarious Jacky au royaume des filles has arrived just in time."

The festival will close with the North American premiere of Abel Ferrara's Welcome to New York (2014), the controversial latest from the legendary filmmaker behind such landmarks as King of New York (1990), Bad Lieutenant (1992), 4:44 Last Day on Earth (2011) and the recently re-released Ms. 45 (1981). Welcome to New York is loosely based on the Dominque Strauss-Kahn scandal and stars the iconic Gérard Depardieu in one of the bravest performances of his career. Co-starring is the equally sensational Jacqueline Bisset. Abel Ferrara will be on hand to host this special evening, unveiling his audacious and bold new classic for its first appearance on this continent after explosive bows at Cannes (out of official selection) and Edinburgh. For an extensive recap of this "fraught study of addiction, narcissism and the lava flow of capitalist privilege", I recommend David Hudson's aggregate of reviews at Fandor's Keyframe Daily.

The festival is also presenting two lifetime achievement awards, the first for Mamoru Oshii (accompanied by a remastered presentation of Ghost in The Shell, 1995) and the second for "fear pioneer" Tobe Hooper (accompanied by a remastered 4K presentation of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, 1974, celebrating its 40-year anniversary). Scoring another coup, there will also be a special screening of James Gunn's much anticipated Guardians of the Galaxy on offer during the festival.

DON MURRAY: UNSUNG HEROThe Evening Class Interview With Don Malcolm

As the Roxie Theater launches into "A Special Weekend With Don Murray" as a ramp-up event leading to Don Malcom's documentary tribute Don Murray: Unsung Hero (scheduled for a late Fall 2014 release by MidCentury Productions), I bemoan my inability to be in San Francisco for this event and to hear the seasoned actor interact with his audiences; but, remain grateful to have attended the series press screenings and to have had an opportunity to sit down with Don Malcolm to discuss his championing enthusiasm for Murray who, he asserts, "went from acclaim to obscurity in the blink of an eye."

According to The Baseball Reliquary, Inc., Don Malcolm "has had a shadowy literary career ever since the mid-1970s, when he wrote the first 'hypertext' novel—before 'hypertext' had even been invented. In the 1990s he turned his offbeat style and disturbing, ambiguous tone to baseball, crashing together numbers and literature in the controversial follow-on to Bill James' Baseball Abstract, called The Big Bad Baseball Annual. He went on the lam in 2001 and [spent eight years] editing and writing for the Film Noir Foundation's e-zine, The Noir City Sentinel."

In his program notes for the Roxie weekend series, Malcolm writes: "The 1950s proved to be the death knell for the classic leading man in Hollywood. The explosion of 'sensitive' leading men appearing in that decade left little or no room for the character lead, which had flourished since the '30s. The 'sensitive' type was quickly supplanted by the anti-hero, leaving little or no room for the matinee idol who was dashing but not dangerous.

"Enter Don Murray, who straddled both the 'dashing' and the 'sensitive' type. While not from the 'method' school—he once joked that he was cast as the virginal sailor in The Rose Tattoo (his first major role on Broadway, in 1951) because there were no virgins at the Actors' Studio—he was AADA-trained and was poised to give '50s heartthrobs like Clift and Dean and Newman a run for their money.

"Murray had something more, however; a social conscience. He followed in the footsteps of Lew Ayres and became a conscientious objector during the Korean War. His alternative service in post-WWII Europe, particularly in Italy, where he found thousands of displaced persons living in caves and barbed-wire camps a decade after the war's end, would lead him to live a kind of double life once he was catapulted to stardom via his performance as the brazen young cowboy in Bus Stop (1956), holding his own against Marilyn Monroe and garnering an Oscar® nomination for Best Supporting Actor.

"Murray would spend the next six years fulfilling his vow to solve the refugee problem while trying to be a movie star on his own terms. Despite a series of artistic triumphs (1957's The Bachelor Party and A Hatful of Rain, 1958's well-turned-out pacifist western From Hell to Texas, and a memorable role opposite James Cagney in 1959's Shake Hands With the Devil), it proved to be a tightrope act—one that soon led to a series of crossroads in his personal and professional life."

My thanks to Larsen Associates and to Elliot Lavine for arranging time to converse with Malcolm in the lobby of the Roxie Theater.

* * *

Michael Guillén: First off, tell me a little bit about yourself and your background.

Donald Malcolm: The most recent thing on the CV, aside from this documentary I'm working on, would have been eight years of editing the Noir City Magazine, which had a different title originally. I stayed with that until it became impossible to juggle all the balls in the air at the same time.

Guillén: Previous to that, had you made other documentaries?

Malcolm: No, this is my first leap into the void. I'd been a film buff for a long time while working in all sorts of other areas: failed novelist, writer about film and film noir, primarily editing the journal. The rest will have to be swathed in mystery.

Guillén: A shady and checkered past, eh?

Malcolm: Yes!

Guillén: Don Murray: Unsung Hero is a marvelous project to start out a career as a documentarian. How did the idea come to you?

Malcolm: Through Foster Hirsch, who was serving on the board of the Film Noir Foundation, and someone I got to know early on in that process. He became an incredible resource because he's currently working on—if not his last book—then his best: a massive book on film in the 1950s, which is a period of time he's fascinated with since he grew up during those years and wants to revisit that period of films.

During one of our conversations back in 2009, he said, "Somebody that really needs to be brought back to consciousness is Don Murray." I remembered a couple of films Murray had been in so I didn't look like a complete idiot to Foster, but he assured me there was so much more. "It's a fascinating story," he said, "he's been forgotten." I did a little more digging, started looking around, and realized, "This is really strange. This is a guy who was very big, made some incredibly important films, and then what's the rest of this all about?" As I started watching his films, I realized something more needed to be done.

Foster was able to convince the Film Noir Foundation to show A Hatful of Rain at the Palm Springs Noir Festival. Don Murray came to that screening and we all had a chance to meet him. We were all so incredibly charmed by his intelligence and self-deprecation. He was the perfect antithesis to so many people you run into in the field, someone you really enjoyed meeting, and so we got to know each other a little more. We pushed our first idea of doing a film retrospective in his home town Santa Barbara and—since at that time I had moved there and was traveling between Santa Monica and Santa Barbara—we put that festival on and showed a few of the films programmed in the current series at the Roxie. That went over very well and at that point I made the decision that there was still more to do, that the Santa Barbara screenings were simply not enough, because Don's story—as I got to know more of it—made me think back on American history from the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, etc., and I sensed there was a narrative there that might marry together what happened to him and his career with what happened to the country. If I was careful and did my work and found the right people to articulate those ideas, I could fold those elements together and make a pretty interesting film out of it. That's when I took the leap into the void.

Guillén: We'll pursue those ideas in just a second, but first I want to touch upon your description of Murray's self-deprecation. The byline for the Roxie film series—"He went from acclaim to obscurity in the blink of any eye"—has an air of finality about it. How does Murray think about the sudden collapse of his career into obscurity? Is that how he perceives the experience himself?

Malcolm: I don't think he would argue too hard against that idea. If you read his autobiographical materials—which we hope will eventually come out soon in the wake of this documentary-in-progress—he was aware that when he came to Hollywood he was walking a thin line because he did not want to play the game the same way as everyone else, which cost him his marriage. Eventually Fox was not able to find him projects that he liked and weren't able to figure out a way to build on the success that he had with Bus Stop. His career was always teetering. He made films that had quite a bit of success and esteem, but he was right on that edge and fell off very quickly. He's aware of that. I don't think he would argue with our byline, but he might say, "You're being a little dramatic and pushing the story to get people into the seats; but, more power to you."

In general, he would agree that the collapse of his career was seemingly sudden but it wasn't anything he was not aware of at the time. He was more concerned with other, larger aspects beyond being a film star. He was more interested in dealing with his refugee project. When his wife Hope Lange came to Hollywood, her star became ascendant and she traveled into those circles, which created a point of separation between the two of them, whereas formerly she had been part of the project and very much supportive of him in those areas. So you had two or three things hitting at the same time; an interesting set of points of collision for him. He knew his career was on shaky ground and then all of a sudden his marriage fell apart as well. "Obscurity" might be a good word to describe his internal feelings, but he was also a guy who would always press on and find a way to do something else and find his way out of the predicament that he found himself in and, in some cases, put himself in.

Guillén: Let me be clear about this: was it that—as an actor working for a studio—they weren't able to secure scripts that fit with what he wanted to do? And what he actually wanted to do is more what you see today where an actor as a writer/producer governs his own career?

Malcolm: Correct.

Guillén: Which, further, was not readily amenable to the climate of the time?

Malcolm: Well, it was a trend that was beginning but you had to be an actor with enough box office clout to be able to do that.

Guillén: Such as Burt Lancaster?

Malcolm: Burt Lancaster is a great example. Kirk Douglas is another one. These were guys that formed their own production companies. Don, being a keen student, was aware of these models and the goal he had for Hoodlum Priest (1961) was his leap into the void to try to make that happen. The film did extremely well. It's a great ham-fisted film that works in all sorts of different ways, both in the box office, and how it has held up over the years. It's a template for what he would have done if a studio had been willing to take him on as an independent production arm, providing a reasonable budget and giving him a chance to make different kinds of films. Unfortunately for Don, that particular window of time and the studio executive who was particularly interested in Hoodlum Priest left United Artists just at exactly the wrong moment and the people who were left to negotiate the deal didn't have the same vision. That whole opportunity slowly evaporated. He had to go in a different direction in order to try to make his films, plus continue to find a way to make a living once he remarried and began to have children. Within a few years, he had a lot to contend with.

Guillén: Falling from relative stardom into relative obscurity, how did he persevere as an actor? How did he keep himself going?

Malcolm: He made a few concessions to the marketplace. We won't show it in the Roxie series, but you're invited to see the incongruity of Don playing a Roman soldier in a story called The Viking Queen (1967). Obviously, Sweet Love, Bitter (1967) was in that period so he kept finding ways to expand by doing whatever came his way that he found interesting. Eventually he finally realized that he had to go to television, which was something he had resisted, having been a stage actor and having a certain amount of looking askance at television that many of the New York natives had about Hollywood. But finally at that point he looked for a property and found a script that he liked called The Borgia Stick (1967) that became a highly-rated TV movie where people rediscovered him and realized that he had that laid-back dynamism that made for a wonderful leading man hero. That was exactly the kind of role he didn't want to play, because he wanted to be a character actor and a leading man. He wanted to have it all in the films that he made. But he made The Borgia Stick and it got to the attention of insiders like Jackie Cooper at Screen Gems who, of course, had his own career as a major child star and moved on. Cooper remembered working with Don in live television days and decided Don Murray deserved to be back in the public eye so he offered him three different TV shows, which is how The Outcasts (1968-1969) came about.

Guillén: So let's return to the idea you were mentioning earlier regarding the collapse of Don's studio career set against the shifting culture of the time, which led to the programming concept behind the Roxie series. Talk to me about coming up with the concept for this program.

Malcolm: Sure. There was a radical sea change that occurred in America basically within one year. In our documentary Jeanine Basinger relates a wonderful story that encapsulates that sea change well. She talks about her husband who went to Wesleyan at the time when it was still an Ivy League wanna-be school emulating the coat-and-tie approach. It took another 10 years before that approach evaporated completely, but at that time her husband was sitting in a class room with fellow tweed and tie students listening to their professor lecture when a young man threw the door open and walked barefoot into the room wearing blue jeans and a flower in his long hair. They all gaped at him in wonderment and a year later they all looked like him. This is, in essence, what happened to the country.

Obviously this goes back to the notion that there was a kind of liberal consensus that had emerged out of the rubble of the McCarthy era and had begun to make a lot of in-roads, even though there was a Republican President (Eisenhower) who today, by the way, would be considered hopelessly radical by his fellow party members of current stripe. There was more consensus of what was possible in the Democratic Party in the late '50s up through the beginning of the Vietnam War. What happened in 1964-1965 as we went into Vietnam, this whole thing exploded splintering into two or three different directions at once, which became the '60s as we know it. A lot of the people who were part of the original old Left found themselves ground up, ineffective, and left behind in this tide of rebellion, change and revolution that went on. Hubert Humphrey was the sacrificial lamb to the Democratic Party. I'm sure that Humphrey never wanted the things to happen in Chicago like they did. They ruined his chances to be President of the United States, for sure. A whole lot of people wound up having their own ability to work effectively in those areas compromised by the polarization that began in '64-'65, rolled through the country, and is still with us today.

Don's career ran afoul of that because he made a couple of choices for films that confused his friends who thought he was a particular kind of guy. He had made films where he played an outed gay senator (Advise and Consent, 1962) so he looked like a guy who was working on a progressive side. But then he made a film about Norman Vincent Peale (One Man's Way, 1964) and eyebrows raised. They asked, "What is he doing?" Well, he had seen some other issues that he wanted to bring up. It wasn't that he was going over to become a member of the fundamentalist group. The Confessions of Tom Harris (1966-1972) reads that way although, again, Don liked to walk tightropes in films he made. So he found himself in a spot where people just didn't have any bearings on him anymore and that was one of the reasons he fell into obscurity. He needed help from his old friends in order to get his career back on track. From 1969 on, he made a lot of efforts to do the same thing and had more adventures in his attempt to do so; but, he was tainted a little bit by some of the things that people assumed about him, which turned out to not really be true.

Guillén: So are you trying with this program to represent the diversity of his—"taste" isn't quite the right word—the range of creative tasks he chose for himself?

Malcolm: Yes, I think so; but, one area that's prominent in our program is the issue of race relations. This is an area where Don never varied from being ahead of the curve. When he made Call Me By My Rightful Name in 1972 about 10 years later, it probably seemed threatening or head-scratching to people because they thought the issue had been resolved—of course, the issue has never really been resolved—but that legacy is something we wanted to put into relief in the process. We wanted to give an anthology of all that, along with the other varied films he'd done throughout his career.

Guillén: It's been quite satisfying to see the preview clips of your upcoming documentary Don Murray: Unsung Hero, especially the one conversation you had with Don where he specifically addresses these race relation issues. Regarding the sea change you referenced earlier, or any kind of revolution for that matter, Confucius reportedly argued that if you want to change a culture you need to first change its language. The language of American discourse dramatically changed in the '60s, which meant that film language had to also change. Only often it didn't, and thus there were awkward transitions in narrative, and awkward depictions of how movies were trying to capture that cultural sea change and the shift in language. In your clip with Don I was struck by his comment that it's even harder to talk about race relations now because of cultural complacency, which excited me as he said it and made me yearn for a movie about that. Right? Because complacency has become the current language. The idealistic, rebellious language of "Hey man, hey man" that we saw in Sweet Love, Bitter—which was a language of the late '50s extending into the late '60s—is now a language that's almost comic, if quaint, and dated, because we're now much more cynical or—as Don brilliantly suggests—much more complacent.

Malcolm: We were fortunate to be able to interview Dick Gregory as a counterpoint to this story that reminds us that the issue of race relations is not solved and that people carry around the wounds of racism and prejudice even if we don't see them. It's clear that we need to continue to focus on this issue, just as Don said, and colliding these two individuals together made for a striking presentation. We're still debating exactly how we'll present that in the documentary, but I think it will be fairly close to what you've seen because I want people to see that there's still anger. The anger exists because it hurts to be discriminated against. We've had this long history of discrimination that can't be swept under the rug. We can't backslide from the accomplishments of the past and think that—just because we've made "x" amount of progress—we can have faith that all the young people following us are going to be without those prejudices. If we don't remain vigilant, we've shown in this country an immense capacity for backsliding.

This is paramount in Don's mind as we've discussed it. This was one of the reasons why he—over the course of our discussions—became more and more comfortable with this notion of our programming in this direction and became willing to go into the vaults to recover Call Me By My Rightful Name, make a new print of it, and have it be something that can be seen again. Perhaps this is the time when the story it tells through a romance of two men who were friends but have one potential point of division between them come rear its ugly head in the strangest and most unusual of ways makes for an interesting and compelling movie. I hope that people will see it and that it will become a part of an ongoing conversation for that subject matter.

Guillén: Which leads me to ask: how much has Don been involved in the curation of this program? You say he pulled Call Me By My Rightful Name from the vaults. Did he do that specifically for this program?

Malcolm: In order to get a handle on what happened, we had to go back and try to find as much material as we could. Don had been sitting on that particular film, simply because he felt, stoically, that no one seemed to want to see it. He didn't want to see the film decay, but he also didn't want to bother anybody about it unless somebody came looking for it. Here again is an example of his self-deprecation. He didn't want to press his particular viewpoint upon people by advocating for the film in any overly-aggressive way. Call Me By My Rightful Name was a property that involved breaking down Don's own barriers over time because he had been somewhat hurt by the fact that there was no place to play it once he had done it.

But to answer your question, Don has always been interested in how we've shaped the program. We've consulted him and taken his ideas into perspective. I drove the race relation issue over time and I think that's what convinced him to bring Call Me By My Rightful Name out of the vault and into the light of day again. It is a collaboration in that respect.

Guillén: Is Don aware of how he is situated in the nostalgic reappreciation of older films? In a sense, a curated appreciation distinct from how the films might have been received in their own time? Does he recognize this as a springboard to reintroduce himself to a new generation and possibly even kickstart a later phase of his career?

Malcolm: We should credit Foster Hirsch as being the man who was Don Murray's stalwart champion and who lit the fire under me. I was really shocked that no one had already done this. As I pursued this story and looked at the work, I asked myself why this appreciation of his career was languishing? Partly it was due to Don's finding a stoical point where he had found a way to forget about being forgotten. It was something he managed to accept. But now he sees there's an opportunity for some of the things he did to reassert themselves. He feels it's a good thing to have happen.

In terms of seeing how it's done, obviously we felt it would be better—because of the amount of the material—that we program it thematically (as we have) and not have it be a pick-and-choose. Nor did we want to oversaturate him into a lot of different places. Because none of Don's works fit comfortably into genres. As you've seen from the press screenings, he's always jamming genres together. Tom Harris is especially a very odd construction. It's a strange little film that went through a lot of peregrinations. But he enjoys that. He's a guy that likes to collide opposites. He likes to push them as far as they can go. The story of Tom Harris itself goes right to the edge of whether or not you're going to be able to identify with the lead character and believe in his transformation. I think Don recognized how far he pushed things and that he maybe went a little further than most people could really deal with, which is why he admitted in our clip that Tom Harris was the film that offended everyone. "Maybe I just couldn't help myself," he says. This is the restless spirit of a man who is very smart and interested in finding that spot of discomfort and riding it as far as he can. He didn't want to be simply a good-looking leading man. He wanted to push further and have us think about things.

Guillén: It's interesting that he purposely courted controversy and yet had some doubts about following through. Would that be a correct summation?

Malcolm: I would say that sometimes he didn't know the consequences of going out on a limb and then, after going there, he would step back and say, "Well, maybe I went a little too far with that." As far as him courting controversy, I think what actually happened was that there was a trap for him as an actor in being typecast, which he fought against as much as he could at every opportunity. It took him a long time to decide to do television because it was an easy option for him along the way and serious television was something of an anathema to him. He wanted to find a role like the one he played in The Outcasts, which as I said hit a level of discomfort. It wasn't that he wanted to make the audience uncomfortable; he just gravitated to a series of ideas that found that particular spot of discomfort.

One of the things about that is it makes it even more fascinating to look at this stuff today and be able to see that some of it involves issues that still haven't been resolved, even though we may think they've been resolved, and they still make us uncomfortable as we watch them—not because of awkward construction—but because they hone in on a spot that leaves you thinking, "Oh my God, he's really going to do this. He's really going to try to make this guy who's a rapist into a hero! He's actually going to make us believe this somehow through enough steps to make us see that this is a credible story because it really did happen." Tom Harris is a story that's stranger than fiction. It's hard for us to believe it; but, it really happened, and he's trying to say that from extremes you can come to a point of understanding.

Guillén: So for my final question, I'll play a little bit of a devil's advocate: why should we remember Don Murray? From a pantheon of stars, and an increased interest in character actors, what do you want people to walk away with from this series and your upcoming documentary profile? What do you want us to realize about Don Murray?

Malcolm: We should understand that he occupies a unique niche in a world of film that went through a maelstrom and he stayed true to himself. He didn't compromise his work or his ideals. He represents the type of artist and citizen who can provide a template for the way artists and citizens should operate so that the world will be a better place, and a less cynical place. That's a legacy in the work that he did in terms of the race relations films that will shine brightly for some time to come until we are able to, hopefully, resolve that issue. His work will continue to be a touchstone for us to come back to as we try to move forward and be a more progressive and better society as a whole. Don is an unsung hero in that regard.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

SFIFF57: CHINESE PUZZLE (2013)—An Evening Class Question for Cédric Klapisch

The 57th edition of the San Francisco International Film Festival provided a refreshing touch of international glamour with the on-stage appearance of beloved French actor Romain Duris, accompanied by director Cédric Klapisch, for the one-off screening of Chinese Puzzle (2013), the third installment in a trilogy that rivals Richard Linklater's "Before" Trilogy in its sophisticated purview of the maturation of cinematic characters over time. Ten years past, Klapisch delighted audiences with L'Auberge Espagnole (2002), introducing the charismatically frenetic Xavier (Duris) whose expectations of life are endlessly complicated by unfolding circumstance. Complication, however, veers into a kind of beauty, as Klapisch shifts his characters to New York City and sets their changing lives against a constantly shifting backdrop of urban pandemonium. As someone deeply enamored with street art, I admired Klapisch's eschewal of ready architectural branding to explore the pedestrian and oft-overlooked street-level beauty of modern Manhattan. My question was about such.

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Michael Guillén: I have to compliment you on the kinetic beauty of this film, the way you've captured the city, and the way you've captured your characters moving throughout the city. In all three films—L'Auberge Espagnole, Russian Dolls, and now Chinese Puzzle—you've exhibited a texture that's partly the inherent mobility of a location combined with the narrative mobility of your characters. Can you speak to how you chose your locations in New York to create the look you wanted for the city? I love how the city looks in this film!

Cédric Klapisch: The thing is, I went to film school when I was 23 years old and during those two years I learned how to make movies in New York. That taught me a lot about how to shoot in the city today. I stayed about seven months in New York before I started shooting Chinese Puzzle, to write the script, and to take a lot of pictures so that I could look at the new New York, which is very different from the New York I knew in the '80s. I felt a need to capture what was different and new.

I was living near Chinatown so I figured it was more important to shoot in that neighborhood because nobody really shoots there. I wanted to shoot real street life, and not something from a postcard. Also, because I'm French, I wanted to make sure my film didn't look "touristy." I wanted to see things from the inside; but, I kept in mind that I have a different eye than most people in America, probably because I'm French, I'm European, I see things differently. The thing I say about the ground of New York meaning more when you ride a bike? If you ride a bike in Paris and then ride a bike in New York, it's completely different.

During those seven months that I stayed in New York working on the story, I learned to trust my powers of observation. I realized that Xavier had to be like Manhattan and Manhattan had to look like Xavier, so—where he wants to have a life that's organized—New York wants to look organized but it's really a crazy city; it's not organized at all. Once I wrote the script and decided how I wanted to shoot it, it was things I observed during those seven months in New York that influenced what you saw. Another thing is that—since I shot in Paris and New York—when I did my photography in Paris, everything was grey, beige and white. In New York everything was colorful. You can see a red building, or a blue building, which is impossible in Paris. I conceived the look of the film on that. The first part in Paris was kind of depressing for the character and so I used the grey aspect of Paris in that way. Then when he moves to New York, something enthusiastic and colorful happens.


Chinese Puzzle opens Friday, May 23, 2014 at Landmark's Embarcadero Center Cinema in San Francisco, and Landmark's Shattuck Cinemas in Berkeley. The film's running time is 117 minutes and is rated R. In French and English; non-English portions are subtitled in English.