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Erin Dennison editor-in-chief
EDITOR’S NOTE November 2016 Los Angeles
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here are several moments in Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight that left a sold-out show at the ArcLight in total silence. The coming-of-age film based on the play In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue by Tarell Alvin is at once a deeply personal poem and a jarringly honest piece of social commentary. It’s full of unsettling, sometimes painful silences, and carefully negotiated steps forward. During these spaces, 400 strangers mutually agreed to be still. As the credits rolled, I had a feeling of loss, similar to that of finishing a great book. This made me nostalgic for a thing that still very much exists, and resentful of another thing that is actually pretty rad: the digital revolution—namely, the rise of ondemand services and consequently, the death of the indie middle class. These days, it’s hard to appreciate a movie theater experience without acknowledging its potential demise. Alternatively, what’s so wrong with calibrating your environment and saving $15? Is the widespread availability of movies a blessing, a tragedy, or a little of both? With new innovations come new anxieties. Which brings us to a deeper question: why is the near future so fucking terrifying? What do our accountability, memory, and ethical boundaries look like after A.I. gains consciousness? Are tabletfriendly streaming services the end to mass art, and with it, empathy altogether? After watching Her, who is the bigger tool, Theodore or Samantha? Technoparanoia is normal, right? Not for Mark Duplass. Indie film’s savior fearlessly embraces streaming services popularity while managing to cling to his art-house sensibilities. The actor/director/producer has spearheaded an entirely new model of DIY filmmaking, one
that’s retrofitted for the on-demand era of digital distribution. His latest feature, Blue Jay, is a poignant play on déjà vu and the first of four Duplass Brothers films to receive a theatrical release before debuting on Netflix (which financed the indie without even seeing the script), the result of the brother’s pioneering deal with the streaming platform and indie distributor, The Orchard. Industry institutions are looking forward too. Take Sundance’s New Frontier initiative, which champions the intersection of diverse stories and new technologies. Their VR programming specifically sends a message to aspiring filmmakers and heavyhitters alike: be courageous and others will take note. I’d argue that the golden age of cinema might actually be upon us, or okay, let’s call it the second golden age of cinema. But it comes with some caveats. As of press date, Moonlight scored a record-setting weekend, making it the biggest pre-theatre average of 2016 and the 26th film ever to snag a per-location average of over 100k. The critically acclaimed juggernaut is unique among the biggest live-action per-theater-debuts in that it was a true indie offering that lacks a marquee director, huge star power, or even high profile industry cosigns. In fact, Moonlight is the only film on that list without a bag of tricks. Barry Jenkins created cinematic poetry out of the guttural—and universal— feelings of longing, regret, and tenderness. It’s more than worth the trip to the theater, if only to remind yourself what eloquent silence feels like. Sure, the future of cinema looks like VR, but it also looks like brave filmmakers, hard-fought distribution deals, communal experiences, and ambitious story telling. If you ask us, the future of cinema looks pretty human.
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