ANSWER PRINT SUMMER 2013
CINEMATTER
I CSIF Board of Directors: President Karla Carcamo | Vice President Sara Walde | Treasurer Michelle Wong | Directors Caitlind Brown, Rolf Stengl
STAFF Operations Director Jessica McCarrel operations@csif.org Programming & Communications Director Nicola Waugh programming@csif.org Programming & Communications Assistant Jesse Cumming communications@csif.org Production Director Yvonne Abusow production@csif.org Designed and Compiled by Dave Reynolds + Nicola Waugh Editors Erin Sneath + Nicola Waugh Advertising Inquiries: communications@csif.org
The Calgary Society of Independent Filmmakers (CSIF) is a non-profit, member-driven media arts cooperative that encourages the production and exhibition of independent film. Suite 103-223 12 Avenue SW Calgary, AB Canada T2R 0G9 Phone: 403.205.4747 Hours: Tues-Sat, 10am – 5pm Web: csif.org
IN THIS ISSUE QUARTERLY MANIFESTO 4 MEMBER’S MISSIVES 5 FILM REVIEW: MUSEUM HOURS
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SCREENWRITING TIPS 12 THE REEL DEAL 13 ON THE SLATE 15
CSIF is grateful for the involvement of its members, the network of artist-run cooperatives throughout Canada and for the financial assistance of its funders: The Alberta Foundation for the Arts, The Canada Council for the Arts, Calgary Arts Development, and from its donors, members and individuals.
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QUARTERLY MANIFESTO by Erin Sneath
Cine: 1. a combining form meaning “motion picture” Matter: 2. physical substance, stuff Film: 1. synonym of “movie” 2. celluloid analogue medium for recording motion, using the persistence of vision Summer: 1. One of the four traditional seasons 2. The shortest of the two seasons in Calgary* 3. A time of year characterized by long exterior shooting days. CSIF: 1. The Calgary Society of Independent Filmmakers 2. a non-profit organization for filmmakers and film enthusiasts since 1978 3. not to be confused with CSIS** 4. located at The Old Y Centre, 223 12 Avenue SW, office 103 The celluloid film versus digital video debate: There is something inherently beautiful about the look of real film, and the tactile experience of using it to make movies can be special and even fun. Even though it is rarely used commercially, due to price and some inconveniences, the beauty and hands-on-ness of physical film continues to inspire the people who use it. The tactile aspect is what we are * Calgary summer is often synonymously called “construction” ** our national intelligence service. The organization is far less famous from those of other countries, but only because it is that much more sneaky. 4
celebrating with this issue of Answer Print, titled Cinematter, which is a word we made up for this purpose. The difference between celluloid film and digital video is like the difference between types of paint. Acrylic paint is newer than oil paint. Acrylic paint can dry in minutes. Oil paints take one to three weeks to dry, and art conservators do not consider an oil painting to be completely dry until it is at least sixty years old. Acrylic and oil each has their own advantages and disadvantages for a painter, and each painter has their own reasons for their choice of medium. Some are willing to use either one, depending on the project. Despite some inconvenience, oil paint is not dead. Painters still make use of its smoothness, the way it blends beautifully, and the way it catches the light. A painter who uses acrylic is not a lesser artist, just as a filmmaker who uses digital is not a lesser artist. Nobody’s medium is going to beat up anyone else’s medium in this playground. Art is too awesome for that.
“Extra! Extra! CSIF office survives record flood!” by Erin Sneath
Setting aside the theme of physicality in film for a moment, this summer began with the worst in Alberta’s history. If you yourself were not evacuated from your home, chances are you know someone who was. As I write this, downtown Calgary is in the process of reopening. Though unharmed by water, the CSIF office was without power, and stayed closed for a week. The Central Library remains closed, with most of their first-floor books destroyed. High River has been living up to its name in the most disastrous way. There were concerns of looting and pricegouging, but not much of that has happened. Though many families lost everything, it has become a time of sharing, with people opening their homes to those in need, and
volunteering to clean, pump, and rebuild. Despite the damage, the Calgary Stampede is proceeding as planned, selling Come Hell Or High Water t-shirts to raise money for flood relief. No matter how you feel about the Stampede in general, you have to admit that’s hard core. This is a strong community. Strong communities help each other in times of need. They build and rebuild and rebuild. They cheer each other up. When the can, they tell stories and make art together. They make plans for the future. They survive, Come Hell Or High Water. For those of you who may be worried about their films being damaged because of the flood, you may want to check out a company called Film Rescue International at www. filmrescue.com.
MEMBER’S MISSIVES End of the Beginning: Out with the old, mimicked by the new
by David S. Baker
Too often, my peers fulfil their destiny as a demographic by lamenting the passing of yet another icon of their age. Nostalgia for the old days creeps into every aspect of their conduct and conversations. This is especially true as it applies to technology found in everyday routine. While I too have a great fondness for technology of the past. I have four betamax machines as well as a complete 8mm film kit. I maintain perspective as well as a healthy balance between what was, what is and what will be. Kodak’s announcement declaring their plans to end production of acetate film base media came as less of a surprise and more of a confirmation of the technological process proving to be right on schedule. If you think about it, at some point the mass production of stage coach wheels passed from the market place too. Today, not many are deeply affected by this void on the store shelves as the automobile has come to serve these needs, and nicely so. Rest assured that even with the world’s best known manufacture calling it quits on this medium of photography, the change will not be sudden. Hoarders, collectors and ebay hounds will continue to supply the accessories and necessities of film buffs for years to come, though the price may increase. Seems as though that people who are passionate about their hobbies are willing to pay for 5
the things they want and so the market will continue.
and so the concepts continue in the hands of a new generation of shutter bugs.
As for me, I love the new entries into this photographic arena. High definition in the palm of my hand, complete with email, social media and I can even take phone calls too. Wow! I welcome the new age simply because I understand its origins, its purpose and most importantly, its necessity. The popular Digital Single Lens Reflect or DSLR cameras used by photographers and film makers alike is a wonderful addition to the heritage of the craft. Perhaps of note here would be the brief explanation of how the new tech owes it existence to the old:
Perhaps unnecessary, the busy digital generation of today could do well to pick up an “old school” 35mm film camera, hold it for a moment while researching the origins of their tools and toys, which are now are as accessible as high speed WIFI at Starbucks.
DSLR cameras do not record a video signal but rather a rapid series of digital still images, just like the method of exposing frame by frame used by the mechanical shutterdriven film cameras of old. In a sense, the old ways live on, improved beyond the hopes of the clever minds which conceived of them,
Meanwhile, I continue to pursue the ownership of an original 35 mm print of ‘Star Wars: A New Hope’ so that one day I might fulfil my dream of building my own drive-in movie theatre and inviting my ageing analogue-todigital friends to drive over in their fossilfuel powered crossovers for a “old school” viewing entertainment style. I will be recording, live streaming, twittering and facebooking the event for those too far away, too busy or too far gone to attend in person.
FILM REVIEW MUSEUM HOURS
by Jesse Cumming
“So it’s no longer really a film vs. video question for me, and I don’t regret mixing them.” - Jem Cohen New York’s Jem Cohen has been directing independent films for more than three decades. A dedicated enthusiast of celluloid, much of Cohen’s body of work has been shot on 8mm, 16mm, or Super 16mm, though recent years have found him exploring the world of digital photography. It is an obvious creative shift, given the ever-mounting challenges that inhibit contemporary filmmaking, even working on small gauge mediums like 8mm and 16mm. What is especially intriguing is Cohen’s refusal to entirely abandon celluloid, instead choosing to craft a sort of curious hybrid between digital and film. This is especially on display in Museum Hours (2012), Cohen’s most recent film and perhaps his greatest, where Cohen’s use of mixed mediums serves purposes beyond the obvious economic one. In its finest moments the dichotomy between film and digital deftly allows a unique and sophisticated interplay between form and content, a potential too often underutilized by contemporary filmmakers working digitally. Working primarily in the realm of nonfiction, Cohen’s film have frequently been tied to and influenced by the arts, from a documentary on Dischord punk band Fugazi (Instrument [1999]), a portrait of the drag performer and musician Benjamin Smoke (Benjamin Smoke [2000]), or an appreciation for literature and urban design and the writ-
ten word on display as he views New York City through the lens of Walter Benjamin and the flâneur (Lost Book Found [1996]). One realm of filmmaking that Cohen has never explored deeply is the fictional narrative. Enter Museum Hours. Produced by Patti Smith and Guy Picciotto, there remains a connection to music in the film, though the film is more immediately grounded in the world of classical or “high art” - painting, sculpture, etc. That is, on the surface at least, for Cohen nimbly dissolves the barriers which separate the “official realms” of art and the art of the world; the art of the hanging in gilded frames from the art of the street or the art of the city. The city is Vienna and the museum in question is the famous Kunsthistorisches Gallery, filled wall-to-wall all the great masters. The museum serves as the meeting place for two strangers: Ann, a Canadian from Montréal (played by songstress Mary Margaret O’Hara), and Johann, a benevolent and placid gallery attendant. Ann finds herself in Vienna visiting a distant cousin in a coma, leaving her to explore the unfamiliar city and the endless halls of the Kunsthistorisches. As implied earlier, what emerges gradually enough in the film is not simply the art on the inside the museum, but the art and beauty of the everyday, down to the smallest scale. It’s all about - to borrow a phrase from John Berger (who receives thanks in the credits) - ways of seeing. The way we look at art, if we’re willing, allows us to see the world in a similar way. The mystery and beauty of a brushstroke or minor set pieces of a painting can be found in - as Johann notes - a discarded beer can or cigarette butt. For Johann, who has spent so many hours carefully analyzing and scrutinizing the works in the museum, he has become a master of such minutiae. Ann herself has her own ways of seeing, primarily through the eyes of a traveller. As the two explore both the world of the gallery and the city of Vienna they show how the eyes of another 7
Jem Cohen on the set of Museum Hours
can serve as a conduit, allowing for new revelations that would have remained hidden. These two worlds, the realm of the museum and the realm of the outside world, are established in curious ways, with Cohen choosing to film the interior scenes of the museum digitally (using the Red One camera) and the exteriors on Super 16mm. In an interview with Cinema Scope magazine Cohen spoke of his original intention to shoot on film in the museum, but restrictions of light and time desired for additional takes led to the adoption of digital. It isn’t the first time Cohen has mixed digital and film, with Instrument incorporating video footage along with 8mm and 16mm, though with less compelling results. The ultimate outcome in Museum Hours is curious and by turns paradoxical, as the realm we typically associate with classical art, venerated and preserved through time, is registered on a medium that is notoriously disposable and cheap, while the frequently unnoticed and ephemeral glimpses of birds, trains, and passers-by are recorded with a medium that remains far more stable, revered, as well as costly. Curiously, the medium we consider the most natural and warm is the one utilized to film people and places divorced from our protagonists or devoid from human presence altogether. Like the explorations and revelations of Johann and Ann, Cohen’s technical experiments showcase simply another example of the film’s myriad “ways of seeing”. Just as the characters and audience learn to see beyond the assumed and official boundaries that might separate the two realms, Cohen frequently uses editing techniques to achieve a similar result. While there are regular sequences or montages that take place almost exclusively one realm or the other, Cohen refuses to completely isolate them, instead frequently - and at times unexpectedly - cutting from one to the other, allowing the outside world of Vienna seep into the museum as the museum spills out. The breathtaking exteriors, wonderfully evocative of a late-autumn Vienna, are curi10
ous in their seemingly arbitrary nature. Frequently absent of the main characters, the shots often appear unannounced, devoid of any context or annotation that might establish a location or meaning beyond what exists inside the frame. There is a term in film grammar called a “Pillow shot”, most often associated with the great Japanese filmmaker Yasujirō Ozu (1903 - 1963), wherein the film cuts from the narrative to brief still-life compositions of streets, trees, or other objects. Like Cohen (or the paintings of Pieter Brueghel the elder, who receives a dedicated discussion in Museum Hours), Ozu’s works were frequently beautiful portraits of human relations and the poetics of daily life. The term and technique is rarely discussed or utilized in contemporary works, though Cohen’s film stands as a shining example. The scholar Noël Burch writes of how in Ozu, “[t]he particularity of these shots is that they suspend the diegetic flow” (Burch 61). Burch continues, discussing how the suspended diegetic flow has a de-centering effect that is produced: [T]he camera focuses for a moment, often a long one, on some inanimate aspect of Man’s environment. People are perhaps known to be near, but for the moment they are not visible, and a rooftop, a street-light, laundry drying on a line, a lampshade or a tea-kettle is offered as centre of attention. It is the tension between the suspension of human presence (of the diegesis) and its potential return, which animates some of Ozu’s most thoughtful work, making these shots anything but decorative vignettes. (Ibid.) In an interesting point, Burch latches on the “exteriority” and stillness of these pillow shots, something we’ve established with Cohen and his interior/exterior dichotomy. Furthermore, he relates them back to the world painting and the still life, foretelling another of Museum Hours’ overarching themes: One of its primary signs is the stillness of these shots in a context whose movement ensures diegetic continuity, [which] tells us
that the imaginary referent is a living world. These shots also imply exteriority because they lack a compositional centre. This is why the phrase ‘still-life’ so often seems apt. [...] Unmoving, often lasting a long time (seldom less than five seconds, which we at least experience as long for an ‘unpeopled’ shot), fully articulated from the graphic point of view, they demand to be scanned like paintings, not like inhabited shots which, even in Ozu, are relatively more centred around characters. (Burch 162) In short, these exterior shots uproot the narrative from the immediate two characters, expanding the frame (so to speak) and making the city as important to the film as the human figures. It forces us to look at the city and the world surrounding the characters as equally essential and compelling. These moments of revelation that populate Museum Hours would certainly have been capable with a homogenous format, be it digital or celluloid, though I doubt that they would have been as subtle and effective
without the distinct properties that each possess and are made visible when juxtaposed. I believe that while Cohen would prefer to work on film, he is not antagonistic towards the possibilities that digital allows, especially when utilized in relation to film. Like Ann and Johann’s ability to see their own world is greater when accented by the view of another, Cohen’s mixed use of digital and celluloid serves to superbly reveal something richer than the sum of its individual parts. Works Cited • Burch, Noël. To the Distant Observer: Form and Meaning in Japanese Cinema. California: University of California Press, 1979. Print • Koehler, Robert. “Wandering in Vienna: Jem Cohen and the Adventure of Museum Hours.” Cinema Scope. Fall 2012: 24-31. Print
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SCREENWRITING TIPS The Set-up and Pay-off
by Neil Champagne
As the theme for this Answer Print deals with “film” in terms of celluloid, I wanted to take the opportunity to pass on a Screenwriting tip that deals with writing for film – No, not in the celluloid sense but in terms of the big screen. Before I dive in, allow me to set up some context. I have recently embarked on writing an original pilot and a few episodes for various shows in the television realm. What I have found is the structure is night and day from writing features. Sure, as a writer, the same techniques apply - economy of language, subtext, making it sing - but in TV, you do not have the luxury of the long set-up in your prose. A set-up is a literary device that takes an element - whether it be a piece of dialogue, hero, object, or a simple location - and refers back to it again later in the story but with greater meaning and significance. Nevertheless, it has some importance to the story and will pay off for the viewer down the road. In film, set-ups and pay-offs are used all the time. Think of Back to The Future Part II when Marty buys the sports almanac.You think nothing of it until that almanac becomes vehicle for conflict in the future (no pun intended). In the feature film world, because you are working with longer duration, the time allotted between set-up and pay-off can be through numerous minutes and scenes. Television, on the other hand, works on a more strict structure.Your set-ups must reach their pay-offs much quicker for the audience to feel its potency. Think of Breaking Bad and how quickly Walt’s Cancer led to him dealing meth.Yep, it all happens with in the first episode, which is only 40 minutes of screen time! What does this mean to you as a writer? It’s quite simple: When writing TV, all plot 12
elements of the story have to happen more efficiently and must be built around strong scene structure. Things move faster in the TV world, so you have to get to the point ASAP. Don’t misconstrue this need for efficient plotting with the importance of pacing. No should you rush through scenes to create set-ups earlier. You have to find crafty ways to set-up and payoff for viewers sooner, rather than later. I have always found that working with multiple ideas for set-ups allows me to always have something to pay off. Girls is an excellent example of a show that is constantly working with the set up and pay off. If you are further interested in TV structure and the set-up and pay off I refer you to a book called Elephant Bucks, by Sheldon Bull.
THE REEL DEAL A satire
by Gillian McKercher
The evolution of the moving picture is at a pivotal time. Film, once the undisputed medium of moviemaking, toes the edge of extinction as consumer selection favours digital forms. DVDs are replaced by Blu-Ray, which are in turn displaced by instant-streaming, and reels fossilize in forgotten libraries. However, I refuse to believe film is ready for its eulogy. Like many things considered irrelevant by masses – vinyl records, acid-wash jeans, Courtney Love – film is guaranteed preservation by the dedicated super-culture of hipsters. Gone are the neo-hippies and ironic smart-alecs that succumbed to style over substance. The modern hipster pursues truth and beauty in all forms with sincerity. They recognize authentic art amidst imposters beget from corporate swindlers. They are an army united in their rejection of belonging, even to their own demographic. For film, hipsters champion its importance in the smoker pits of local noise shows, but if you instead view American propaganda on satellite TV, it’s likely you don’t know their arguments. Luckily, the hipster community is magnanimous to the ignorant, and I hereby describe the reasons film will triumph over obscurity. Film is irresistible to hipsters because it evokes feelings of nostalgia. A projected reel symbolizes a past where quality mattered over quantity, patience yielded satisfaction, and consumers were invested in their entertainment. Ultimately, hipsters believe that film has an intrinsic substance that the
present lacks. A description of this quality is best surmised as artists affirming each others’ “you know what I mean?”. More specifically, artists explain that film is ‘tangible’ and ‘visceral’, which makes their work real. Furthermore, film requires a great physical investment of blood, sweat, and tears. Unlike a soft-handed editor in a digital suite, an artist must cut, splice, and search for frames by hand. By using film, an artist is immediately committed, hardworking, and accomplished. Like the predecessors in the romantic years, a hipster uses film to appreciate the finiteness of material things, which is rare in modern consumerism. Without film, entertainment cannot achieve the purity of its forefathers and we will be disadvantaged. Film is the choice medium for true artists. Christopher Nolan, Paul Thomas Anderson, and Quentin Tarantino directed critically acclaimed films on celluloid in the past year. Unlike their predecessors – Orson Wells, Ingmar Bergman, Francis Ford Coppola – these modern auteurs had a choice to shoot on film or digital, and they made the hipsterapproved, albeit expensive one. Cinematter was expensive before giants like Kodak and Fujifilm discontinued producing film stock, and now, it is even more exclusive. A digital believer may worship the inexpensive production values of the new age, but their moral character is weak without the challenges of financial adversity. A true artist is defined by sacrifice, perfectly encapsulated in the image of a starving vagrant. An emaciated form evokes the serious filmmaker who is nurtured by art and not vegetables. The feeling of sidewalk on bare flesh is the only source of organic inspiration, especially for gritty street dramas. The starving artist, especially one of self-conscious discipline, is an archetype of universal truth. A hipster filmmaker must look to Nolan, Anderson, and Tarantino as leaders for celluloid conservation, but remain disappointed that their funding sourced from corporate productions. To maintain artistic integrity, the hipster filmmaker must not compromise her financial sacrifice and low BMI, and these ideals are achieved by using film stock. 13
The common defence for film stock is its associated artistic process. In comparison to digital productions, film is restrictive: a captured image must be developed; and shooting time is limited by available film. Additionally, the digital medium replicates the once unique appearance of film. A hipster filmmaker does not see these points as a chastity belt, but as liberation from gratuity and sloth. In restrictedness, an artist is diligent, inventive, and most importantly, will find themselves. Adversity as self-induced angst is the precursor to existential crises, the plight of tortured souls. The search for self-importance develops artistic maturity because it validates a work’s existence. If an artist views their out-of-focus, chemically damaged film and asks “why me?”, they will remember that they are a soldier for truth and beauty. No matter the end product, the artist braved humankind’s search for meaning. Cynics may question the number of times possible to find one’s self, but they do not appreciate the depths of an artist’s insecurities. Without the stress of analogue filmmaking, an artist may never confront their problems or the questions of the universe: “why did I do this?”; “will this be good?”; and “how will this pay
for my living?”. An artist may never be recognized by her community, so she must become self-important. Analogue filmmaking ensures an artistic process that confirms the necessity of the hipster. Film will not be archaic as long as it serves an artistic purpose. Masses turn to digital forms, but hipsters revere analogue art and will maintain its preservation. Although an audience may not discern between digital and film mediums, the artist will be satisfied in her superior choice. If you are lucky, the artist will tell you that her movie was made by truth and beauty, and you will be glad that film is here to stay.
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ON THE SLATE PROGRAMMING July 16th at 10pm Curated by Scene & Heard Aug 20th at 9pm curated by Julien Testa Sept 5 at 8pm curated by Dan Zimmerman Secret Cinema:
SCREENWRITING CLUB Screenwriters club meets once a month to help writers with their script by providing feedback, discussing the intricacies of screenplay writing and inspiring creative writing. If you have a screenplay or two under your belt and are looking for some human interaction the Screenwriters Club could be the solution to your hermitude. The second Tuesday of every month from 7pm - 9pm at CSIF participants will meet to review a script or two and give feedback. This is a FREE group led initiative. Bring your experience, imagination (and a few snacks for the group) and become a member of this club.
EXPERIMENTAL FILM CLUB Join us at the Old Y on the second Saturday of every month from 10am where the film club will be working on different experimental film techniques. Drop in costs vary with the number of the participants and the costs of processing and film stock. The Film club is a collaborative group that shares the cost of shooting on Film as they work on a variety of filmmaking techniques. To join clubs contact Yvonne Abusow @ 403.205.4748 or email production@csif.org
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS CSIF is always looking for engaging stories by new and experienced members of upcoming issues of Answer Print. We welcome critical work, film reviews, personal reflections as well as visual works. Our next theme will be “Expanded Cinema� Please send articles, stories, images or proposals to Jesse Cumming answerprint@csif.org