The Rain People

Friday night, I watched Francis Ford Coppola's first personal film, one in which he wrote and directed. He made two films before - one, a Corman production and two, a musical - but this was his attempt at the Auteur, a European tradition of writing and directing personal stories that were, on some level, ripped from your heart and soul. This however, is not a marketable tradition. With that said, other than "The Conversation" (1974), Coppola didn't make another truly personal film until 2007 with "Youth Without Youth", a film that was literally liked by myself and five other people, in the world.

Where was he all that time? With "The Godfather", Coppola arguably became New American Cinema's first superstar director, and though he made numerous classics after this, he always felt he was never able to make the films he wanted to make. I had never seen "The Rain People" before viewing it Friday night, and I have to say, I was blown away. The screening was part of the San Francisco Film Festival honoring Coppola with its Directing Award. Coppola was in attendance, along with a few friends (George Lucas, Walter Murch, Carroll Ballard), and he stated himself, "Why a twenty-one year old kid was writing about a woman who was in love with her husband, but didn't feel ready or comfortable to be his wife, I'll never know..." It was personal. The film was beautiful, shot truly in an independent fashion. Coppola and crew loaded a large van up with everything they thought was needed to make a film, and they traveled across the country telling a story along the way. The idea still strikes me with uncontrollable salivations of artistic freedom.

And now we have him back, first with "Youth Without Youth" and now with "Tetro", a film that might be his most personal film yet. It deals with family rivalry, artistic loyalty, and everything in between; themes that are very close to Coppola's heart. I only hope, because of his fame, that these new personal films will expose to the greater public an artistic expression that has been buried with every blockbuster, action movie to hit the sprawling megaplexes.

There was a time when American Cinema produced more good films than bad films - 1970's, how I wish I was alive then - and hopefully another time such as that will come soon, but until then we'll have to rely on major cities and art house theaters to screen the emotions of America. Let's take "business" out of the "film business."

Couples

A short piece that is part of a larger short film that explores the different stages of intimate relationships:


Couples from Jordan Pearson on Vimeo.

theater experiences

Every once in a great while I have a perfect theatergoing experience. This means the film is epic, the setting is epic; basically the film was made for the big screen. A few that have reached this bar are "2001: A Space Odyssey," "Taxi Driver," "There Will Be Blood," "The Departed," but there are few others. Most of these had the advantage of being screened in the historic Castro Theatre in San Francisco. They just don't make them like they used to. This theatre is all class and old-fashioned glamour. This evening I once again experienced a worthy theater going experience. "Manhattan" was screened in all its black and white glory. Now, I'm a bit biased as Woody Allen is my favorite of all favorites, but even still, of all his films this one screamed "Big!" more than any other. This is Mr. Allen's love letter to his beloved city. Gordon Willis, the Director of Photography, captured this love in every frame. It's anamorphic, giving it an even more panoramic feel. The print was actually quite good; very few scratches. But, oh the shivers! The opening sequence, with Mr. Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" pulsating the very innards of the theater, brought celluloid tears to my eyes. This is why films are made! This is why we can never rid ourselves of the theater; a group of people experiencing the exact same thing with complete individuality; nothing can replace that. And when a film as brilliant as this flickers across a stretched-white screen we remember the power of the movies.

another walk home

Work kept me out late. I don't usually walk home this late. Yet it was one of the better experiences I've had as of recent. It had rained earlier but the sky was now clear with spots of clouds. The moon and stars shown bright, reflecting off the silent streets. A car passed occasionally, but it was mostly quiet. Now even when it's late, it's rarely quiet, but tonight was an exception. It was past the time when the trolley track ran, which meant an ear-piercing silence that made me smile. The air was clear with hints of fireplace smoke. The slight breeze was crisp and cut easily through my fleece. The trees moved playfully with the wind; and I could hear everything because there was nothing. The silence would be interrupted rarely by an obnoxious sanitary truck or the audible beeping of a delivery truck in reverse; but I kept looking at the sky and the empty streets resting beneath it. The setting was like a dream, everything slightly comfortable and yet still unknowable. The city slept as I watched and it made me happy to know that I was experiencing something most people missed out on. I sat on the steps of my apartment building and breathed deeply; and I could hear it all!

Now I'm listening to Bob Dylan's "Boots of Spanish Leather," and the lyrics only punctuate the scenes I had just experienced. The words comforted the sleeping and I comforted the words and the words comforted me.

Can I get a side of humor with my tragedy?

I just saw "Revolutionary Road" and it's a gem of a film; I can't think of a more brutally honest story of I've seen in some time. The two main characters, Frank and April Wheeler, are arrogant dreamers, using their fantasies to get through the day-to-day grind of reality. This is an all too familiar tactic that often ends tragically if not acted upon and fixed; I myself have used delusions of grandeur to get through a shift at one of the many meaningless job titles I've held over the years. It's America's answer to the heart-wrenching "Scenes From a Marriage" by Ingmar Bergman, though Sam Mendes, the brilliant director, shows a slightly different side of a marriage. 

Every step Frank and April take is an attempt to cover up a theoretical mistake. Their current existence is predicated on mishaps, which is realistic of so many marriages. How many people have you known that have gotten married because whatever birth contraception they were using didn't work? Oops, on with life. Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet do an exceptional job of conveying hopeless fear, something that is often "acted" onscreen instead of being genuinely felt. DiCaprio especially, who has been unfairly overshadowed by the brilliant Kate Winslet, was terrifying to watch. Something in his eyes made the audience feel the search for purpose and the revelation of fear. What does life mean? Apparently they can't figure it out.

But enough about the brilliant film; one could read a review like this anywhere and care less about it, I know I always do. Now to address the purpose of the title. Now I know most moviegoers are exactly this: someone who has a day job, a family, reads "People" and came to see this film because they wanted to see Kate and Leo reunite onscreen. These people are also often not theatergoers, which this film gives a bow to; Mendes is also a theater director. The emotions onscreen are raw, humbling, recognizable and often times terrifying; something most moviegoers aren't used to. And here's the problem: they occasionally laugh. Obviously there's a difference between a real laugh at bad acting or a funny situation but when this audience laughed they did so at odd times and I wondered why. This wasn't the first time. Once in a great while when a film comes around and tries to project something realistic I often find the audience chuckling, nervously. This isn't something they would laugh at in the confines of their own homes because it's really not funny, it's usually the opposite of funny. But why then? A friend of mine, Andrew, and I have often discussed this factor of a "regular" audience. They are confronted with such realism that they become claustrophobic of which emotions to express. Now you can shout "film elitist" at me but I'm not laughing, why would I? Embarrassment is the only thing I feel for the audience. How can you laugh at such appalling things? Has our society really come to that? We sit in a dark theater still self-conscience of how we react to certain things. I can only say to the audience, Grow up and I hope to never view "Scenes From a Marriage" with you in a dark theater, you'll think it's a laughing riot.