SAGIndie

Today I woke up in an uncharacteristically positive mood. The first thing I look at this morning is FIND’s Independent Spirit Awards Nominations, which got me excited for the films that I really enjoyed and also gave me a list of films to see in the next few months. The delectation was depressingly short lived, though, because one mercilessly rude awakening was only a click away. (Check the link only if you’re immune to that panicky feeling of watching your childhood heroes refuse to keep sacred the last shred of dignity they had!!) Billy “Rebel Yell” Idol is the new David “Hooked on a Feelin” Hasselhoff? Can’t wait to drunkenly sway to this at my next family Christmas gathering! Hmmm.

Then I found out that the old bags at TV Land have come up with what they consider the 100 Greatest Catchphrases. They really should have left it at 50 greatest, because they really seem to be stretching it with some. It almost appears as though they came up with 70 good ones and then panicked and hastily flipped through television and scribbled down the first remotely catchy thing. How is “Holy crap!” more recognizable than “We were on a break?!?” And when you think of the Brady Bunch, does your mind go first to “Oh, my nose.” or “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”? Or are you lucky enough that you don’t think of the Brady clan in the first place?

And then I saw this. It makes me feel a little better about my shortcomings, and that’s all I need.

As a child who came of age in the late 70’s and early 80’s, I first became aware of Robert Altman indirectly, through the television version of his breakout film M*A*S*H*. The self-serious, laugh-track free show (which by then had been completely and tragically Alda-ized) gave no indication to me of the anarchic, subversive humor of the original film - and anyway, at that point in my life I was much more interested in the exploits of the A-Team or the Duke boys. Mopey doctors making soulful eyes at the camera was not what I was looking for in my television entertainment.

In 1980, I saw my first Altman film, in a theater in Dothan, Alabama: it was Popeye, an ill-conceived excursion into the musical genre which, though starring one of my favorite ugly-hot actresses, committed the ultimate sin in the eyes of a 12 year old boy looking for a good summer movie - it was boring. It never came close to capturing the kinetic energy of the Popeye shorts, and the maudlin songs and lifeless production design were surefire snooze inducers.

Even though I saw The Player (which wannabe filmmaker didn’t see it?), it wasn’t until film school that I began to appreciate Altman, and it wasn’t even M*A*S*H* (as good as that movie is) that sold me. Instead it was the dreary adventures of one John McCabe, wandering through a rainy, cold frontier town in McCabe and Mrs. Miller, that drew me in. The overlapping improvised dialogue, the flat planes of his compositions (an element of his style forged during his early career in television), the pans which followed the characters in head to toe shots through their environment - his idiosyncrasies all came together for me in that film, and for the first time I got it.

It was those idiosyncrasies which marked his work. Sometimes they worked for him (The Long Goodbye, Nashville) and sometimes they produced train wrecks (Pret-a-Porter, Brewster McCloud), but he stayed true to his vision, and after a long, post-Short Cuts, stream of critical and commercial failures - including the overlooked and underrated Cookie’s Fortune - that vision was vindicated (in yet another of his many comeback films) by the success of Gosford Park.

When Robert Altman died yesterday, he left an incredibly varied body of envelope-pushing work, including at least three undisputed classics. He was hugely influential amongst independent filmmakers. He worked as a director for 55 years, and he worked right up to the end. He had an admirable persistence of vision. He did it the way he wanted to do it and, in the end, who can argue that he was not right?

*Scott and I have been the unfortunate recipients of can only be described as that nasty, lingering for three weeks kind of cold. Because of that, I am going to allow him to do all the heavy lifting, including the sure to be inspiring eulogy of Mr. Altman who, as I’m sure everyone knows by now, has sadly passed away. I, on the other hand, will take a cue from Defamer, and give you this, in addition to the little tidbits I have picked up today:

*The Self Reliant Filmmmaking blog also has quite a few people asking to recommend books, only he is smart enought to direct people to the amazon.com store he made. Books, check ‘em out!

*This I found mildly amusing, but as I’m not a real viewer or any of these shows, I’m left whining about the lack of “JAM” and remembering how I couldn’t wait to see what happened to Seth.

*Et tu, Mike Watt? Et tu?

*By her looks, I thought this was the mom, but it’s not. Introducing the Littlest Lohan!

Sniff.

In the interest of serving you, our reader(s), with interesting "news you can use"-type feature stories, I’m passing along this membership offer from our friends at Film Independent.

I can vouch for the usefulness of a membership - I used their ridiculously cheap casting rooms for my last short film, and the free Netflix trial that comes with this offer is what hooked me on the little red envelopes two Spirit Awards ago.

Check it out:

"Film Independent offers something for
everyone: whether you are a working filmmaker or an independent film
lover, we are a place for you to access compelling material and a
community of like-minded independent artists who are driving creativity
in the film industry. When you join Film Independent (at only $95 per
year), your vote counts at the 2007 Independent Spirit Awards. You can attend screenings of nominated films or view them in your home on DVD through our partnership with Netflix.

Plus,
your membership brings you year-round complimentary access to
independent films before they hit theaters, priority selection and
discounts on passes and tickets to the Los Angeles Film Festival,
subscription to the monthly Film Independent Calendar, and more.

You must join by December 15, 2006
to take advantage of Independent Spirit Awards voting privileges.
Joining by this date automatically enters you into a special drawing
where you’ll have the chance to win an Apple video iPod.

For more information and an application visit FilmIndependent.org (and enter promotional code ISA07A ) or call 310.432.1200."

Ah, the pre-holiday, pre-Sundance run-up slowdown!

Every year, right before Thanksgiving, the industry’s gears grind to a halt, as Hollywood takes a much needed breather from fall TV scheduling and holiday release pattern wrangling. Aging stars take this opportunity to hit up Dr. 90210 for a much-needed botox session. Suits all over town head for Montana and Idaho to nurse hot toddies and count their money. Hungover assistants take over the world - until January, that is.

Soon enough, of course, it will be Oscar mud-slinging campaign time. Pilot season also twinkles on the far horizon, beckoning to droves of commercial actors from across the land. And, of course, Sundance will be sucking all the oxygen out of the air before you know it.

But until then, let’s enjoy the lack of news. Let’s forget about Sumner Redstone, and Lindsay Lohan, and the Weinstein’s Blockbuster Video deal. Let’s go to the movies, and get drunk with our friends, and do it with our significant others. Let’s take a break, too.

Don’t worry: Defamer will still be here when you get back. The Oscars will manage their slide into irrelevance just fine without you looking over their shoulder all winter. And, perhaps best of all, you’ve got the inevitable TomKat divorce to look forward to. Until then, have a drink on us, and enjoy this roundup of Friday Filler:

- From The Hollywood Reporter: Seems music plays an important part in indie films!

- From Variety: John Carpenter continues to sell out sell off his franchises. Next up - The Thing!

- From Defamer: Jerry Bruckheimer is (allegedly) a schmuck!

- From the indispensable (snicker!) IMDb indie site: A flame war has broken out amongst the message board Illuminati!

Film Threat has finally released this year’s list of the “coldest” celebrities. Oh shit, son!

The Five People You Meet at an Industry Party, Part One:

New to the scene and unsure of how to navigate the very murky, very shallow waters of the most super of all superficiality - the industry party? The city we live in has been called a number of vaguely irritating things - Hollyweird, La-La Land, but they’re all pretty true. Crazy people flock to LA like those under the employ of SAGIndie flock to an open bar. Sure, watching Entourage will help, I guess, but it would sure behoove you to read this handy guide! Thank me later.

1. A well dressed, but sort of scary looking septuagenarian that may have been a suit at one time: He may be rich-ish and powerful (enough), but that suspicious trail of sawdust he’s leaving is there to warn you that the dude is old! He’s most likely not going to help you in any way (even if he still had pull), and you’re going to have old man smell on you for days. Fellate at your own risk.

2. The Hanger-On (or person of no consequence): If you are reading this, you will most likely fall into this category. They are the person who got lucky by either having a cool job on the fringes of the industry, or a lame job in the center or the industry, or your run of the mill person that happens to know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Sometimes they are aspiring actors/filmmakers/industry bloggers, sometimes they’re just along for the ride. The specific species of this genus will be discussed in detail later. Aside from the fact that it’s just better to be nice to everyone, seriously, be nice to these people because you never know when you will mistake one for:

3. The Guy you think is a hanger-on, and sort of diss, but then get to work and see his face in the trades: Damn it, damn it, damn it!

4. The person you really want to meet: If they are a star, they will be even better looking than you could hope, if they are a suit they will be uglier than you would dare to assume. As a side note, extreme good looks help, but don’t guarantee anything - I didn’t get anywhere with Nick Cannon! Quelle horreur! My advice? Skip this person. Why suffer the injustice of watching their eyes glaze over halfway through your pitch or plea for a date, etc. Besides, if you take the time to do a lap around the party, you will fall in love at least seven times, and that number only gets higher with each drink consumed, which brings us to:

5. The bartender: If you are anything like me, you will spend more time with this person than you will with your date. Keep in mind that this relationship ends at last call. They have seen how much you drink and have watched you fumble each advance. They know you’re lame. But you know what? They only know all this because they’re a bartender. At least you got into the party.

Yun-Fat Chow, Li Gong, and Yimou Zhang take eye-popping wuxia spectacle to new heights in the chop-socky epic The Curse of the Golden Flower, a tragedy whose dark overtones are given ironic counterpoint by the film’s garishly lavish sets, costumes, and cinematography.

Or something like that.

Did I mention this thing’s got some kick ass action? That it’s chock full of sword fights, gong fu fights, ninjas on ropes, and heaving bosoms? That it contains incest, jealously, and gratuitous scenes of traditional Chinese medicine?

Awesome.

I saw the film at last night’s AFI Fest Closing Night Gala, with Yimou, Li, and Yun-Fat in attendance, and thoroughly enjoyed it (though my date felt that the anti-piracy security measures were a bit overdone). The production design alone is worth the price of admission, especially as seen in the pristine new print projected onto the Cinerama Dome’s gigantic curved screen. Throw in the aforementioned action which, while not as prevalent as in Yimou’s previous wuxia films, serves to nicely disguise the screenplay’s stage-bound origins, and you’ve got a shoo-in for a Foreign Film Oscar nom.

Check it out, starting December 14th.

Film geeks: While searching for a link for the Cinerama Dome I found this site, which features a comprehensive overview of every Cinerama film ever made.

In college Saturday mornings meant getting up early to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with my friends. We’d all discuss each other’s inebriated faux-pas and rate the libations at whatever party we had gone to the night before. Marcus would make breakfast and Chris and I would argue over who was more like Rafael…well…to be honest, I never woke up in time for these bonding over a cartoon sessions, but I always heard about them afterward.

Ok, no, that’s a lie. I wasn’t invited, but I knew they were going on because I was stalking someone and spent a good deal of time listening outside their dormitory door. Those were really, really good times. And since everyone loves good times (!!), may I present THIS. They may not be the greatest quality, but where else are you going to find some of this stuff?

As for me, I’ll be neglecting responsibilities to watch The Black Adder, It’s Always Sunny…, and of course, TMNT.

I have to admit, I’m not sure exactly when this news broke amidst the bustle of the AFI Fest, newly single Britney ditching hastily re-monikered “Fed-Ex”, and…oh, that election, but apparently the America’s Next Top Model writers have lost their battle against “The Man”, and were not allowed the outrageous demand of *gasp* health insurance. Oh, the nerve! Those guttersnipes! Harumph, harumph! Their bid to gain union status made them popular with the media, the Norma Raes of a slightly more glamorous profession than textile manufacturing, but in the end it was just not enough.

The point I’m trying to make here is that models are boring*, and if we had to watch this show the way it happened in real life, it wouldn’t have lasted seven seasons. Yeah, yeah, we all love to talk about Tyra’s weave, but that alone is not enough to keep the show afloat. Of course, if you let these twelve reality show writers into the WGA, you have to let all the reality show writers in, and people seem to be very, very afraid of this. Why? Are you worried that these writers will tarnish the golden reputation of the member of WGA? Is it because they aren’t really writing the TV show, that they’re just molding what happens, teasing story lines and highlighting histrionics into 42 minutes of guilty pleasure? I’m not a member of the WGA, so I have no reputation to defend. And I’m also not an avid viewer of the show itself, so I cannot vouch for whether or not the show has gotten worse without the writers. All I’m saying it: it’s going to happen, and when it does these writers will be considered pioneers. Like, you know, Rosa Parks. Ok, maybe not Rosa Parks.

*Except that one contestant who was going to med school after the show and dating the dude from the Shins. Girl’s alright with me.