Utopian Cinema

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Back in October I wrote about my visit to the Bend Film Festival. Without expecting to, I met a couple documentary directors, both of whom gave me some really sound advice. (For that advice, see my October blogs.) One of the directors, Tom Putnam (Red, White, Black and Blue) told me that I could send him my film, and that while he wouldn't be able to watch it anytime soon, he would eventually watch it and let me know what he thought. I decided I needed a few more things together before I went ahead and sent it to him, and ended up sending it a couple weeks ago. Well, within 10 days of sending it to him, Mr. Putnam sent me an email saying that he had watched it, and that if I wanted to talk with him about it, I could give him a call at home. So I did.

So in a perfect world, my Bible Camp film would have looked much different. I would have chosen three or four kids in different villages (probably something like Galena, Nulato, and Selawik because of their differing sub-cultures) and periodically followed them around for an entire year, culminating in coming to Kokrine Hills (or not) in the summer. The actual formation and story of the camp would have become the backbone of a film about life-change as evidenced in the lives of a few kids. This would have eliminated the need for so much narration, and would have created a real bond between the viewer and the subject. Now if I had spent $50,000 of someone else's money, I could definitely have gotten that done, and would have had a far superior (well, at least a more universal) film. But I spent over $8000 of my own money because I didn't know of any other way to get this story out there. So it was great to talk with Tom about how my film could have been better, but ultimately his advice was exactly what I would have wanted to do if I had had the budget (and time...) to do so. So while it was slightly disappointing that I didn't feel like I had received some incredible jewel of wisdom, I did feel like I was far more knowledgeable about this stuff than maybe my experience alone would dictate. Score one for understanding.

So what did I come away with after my 25 minute conversation with Tom Putnam? Pretty much a little more confidence that someday I'll have the chance to really make something stellar, and I think I'll know how to do it, or at least I'll think I know what I'm doing and will dive headlong into some project which will completely absorb me, and eventually I'll have something to show for it. Maybe. Oh, I also came away with a home phone number for a real-life filmmaker. Prank calls anyone? Just kidding. (I'm only explaining that I'm kidding on the off chance that Tom Putnam accidentally runs into this blog someday and is totally creeped out by that last phrase, which would be completely understandable... He said as he nervously rocked and giggled to himself... Heh... Go get a copy of "Red White Black and Blue!" It was 7 years in the making, and it's really good! Props to Tom.) The end.

Take it with a grain of salt. Heck, take it with a BAG of salt if necessary...

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So I've been thinking about grief lately. And I understand that there is plenty of Christian literature out there on the topic, but because of my own personal prejudices, I haven't read them, so if I write something that sounds like a copy of what someone else said, props to them for thinking it first. (It's not that I'm opposed to Christian lit [anymore] it's just that I know so many people who take to heart so much of what a particular author says, there's no longer any room to take things with a grain of salt. Just a single grain of salt, that's all I ask for... That and a 17" macbook pro. But I already mentioned that in blogs past. Wink.)

This evening I saw a rather interesting film called "Across the Universe." The film follows the lives of a half dozen characters as their lives and relationships change from the ultra-conservativism of the 1950s to the radical upheaval of the Vietnam war in the 1960s, and winds down near the beginning of the 1970s. The film itself is definitely worth a viewing, though I recommend it with reservation (there is some drug use, sexual content, and brief nudity that keep me from freely recommending this to everyone and their mom.) The filmmaker does a great job showing the contrasts between where each character starts and where they end up at the end of the film. There are two main characters from a rather well-to-do family, who make some rather radical turns away from the lifestyle of their upbringing. One poignant moment is when the daughter of this family is making a phone call to her mother from a phone booth just outside a demonstration she's planned to join. The mother says something to the effect of "I don't want to lose my beautiful daughter," and I was struck by that for some reason. The mother didn't think she'd be able to bear the grief of losing her daughter. This is certainly not revolutionary thought, but it really seemed to connect with other events today, events I've been pondering.

I've been thinking a lot about the way we deal with hardships. For we Americans, pain is something we avoid, something we loathe, something we fear. So much of what we do in our lives is to further aid us in our blind quest for comfort. And we won't be happy until we're comfortable. (Now, ever so slowly take a heaping tablespoon of salt and slowly grind it whilst reading on.) I need an iPhone. I need a new jacket. I need (gulp) a new 17" Macbook Pro. And yet in all our quest for comfort, we have become some of the world's most mal-adjusted people. We are the ones who have sheltered ourselves from pain and grief and discomfort so much that when we do experience those things, we don't know how to deal with it. It's like the little kid who never quite engages socially, and from then on has a hard time relating to people. (And as you're still grinding, you quietly think to yourself, hmmm, that last part seemed a bit on the auto-biographical side. Crunch, crunch, crunch...) We have become a nation of socially-retarded little kids who don't know how to deal with our own problems. Broadly speaking, of course. In a general and stereotypical mindset. But hey, if I fit that stereotype, there's a good chance someone else out there does too. (Crunch. And you're now only half-reading because you're imagining Dayn awkwardly sidling up to other kids on the playground, hoping someone would have some strange desire to talk with him and be his friend even though he doesn't have the juevos to initiate any sort of conversation. Crunch. Grind.)

From my observations of other cultures, so many people groups are either content with little, or don't know any better, and are at the very least not a society of over-medicated angst-ridden little social-lepers. I certainly don't begrudge those in that position, myself included. I grew up with very little grief other than the very American self-inflicted kind, and therefore I am not able to condemn as much as I'm able to observe. Does anyone else think, generally speaking, that people in the good old US of A we don't understand that life that is not tempered with grief leads one to a path of inability to deal with problems later in life? Of course we all deal with grief in our lives, but sometimes I think what we call grief is often just dissatisfaction with discomfort. Or maybe I'm just ranting because I feel like it. (Okay, you now have two options: A, you can spit out the salt, thereby beginning to rid yourself of its negative properties, or B, you can swallow the salt, providing a much needed amount of grief, and potentially followed by the need for a deluge of water to quench the salt's fury. Choose wisely...)

Voices for the voiceless?

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So I'm becoming increasingly convinced that certain people never learn to speak properly. And I'm not talking about parts of speech or grammar, or any of the usual things I complain about. I'm discovering that certain people never got beyond using some sort of weak falsetto. Unfortunately I've only observed this phenomenon in women, so this may seem fairly gender-biased, though that's hardly the point. Anyway, some women don't know how to use their voice.

I don't know if the problem is that some women discover they have a low voice and just try to bump it up a few notches, or if it's simply an inability to access the strong part of their voice, but I know of a few women whose voices are so piddly, it's a wonder they ever made it this far in life. So the specific person I'm thinking of is the art teacher at the school I work at. I try not to bask specific people in my blog, people who can be discovered by certain sleuthy-type people who happen to know all the right people, but I think I can make an exception this time. No real names, but if you work at my school you'll know who it is, though I can't imagine anyone from my school reading this... ANYWAY, to start, this woman has no classroom management skills. Threats may be made, but the kids know she's the furthest thing from threatening. Once a sickly kitten subbed for the class and held things together with greater ease and panache. The kids certainly don't respect her, and I think the number one problem is her lack of a voice.

For a moment, imagine my voice, which projects fairly well, and gives me some sort of initial credibility to those who don't know me. Now imagine me talking half as loudly, but in a mock-woman's voice, laden with frustration and apathy. The longer I keep this up, the more foolish I appear. Ugh. And on top of it all, every silly art project is given weeks to be finished, while the kids I work with finish each one in fifteen minutes, leaving the rest of the week nearly completely devoid of structure. Oh joy. And all because this poor lady never learned how to use her voice. Amazing.