One of the more amazing things that I've found by using Twitter actively is the sheer number of nifty things that people and organizations give away regularly. A few weeks back, a friend of mine forwarded me a Twitter contest that IFP was running to garner interest in their Script 2 Screen Conference. Post your question for screenwriter Peter Hedges and the one with the best question wins a free pass to the two-day conference (valued at $200 for non-members, $150 for IFP members). I was game. I gave it some thought, and posted a three-tweet stream of questions/discussion. To my surprise and delight, I won. (My winning tweet was "How do we stay flexible as writers for screens as small as your thumb and as big as a palace?")
This past weekend, I attended the conference, hosted by the 92Y Tribeca Performance/Cinema space downtown. I braved weekend morning trains from Brooklyn to make the 9am start, brought snacks to cover the mere 1/2 in the all-day schedule of panels planned for lunch (Tribeca is a wasteland if you want to spend less than $15 on a pickle), and I settled in to watch and learn.
And since I was there because I happened to be on Twitter, I thought I'd start tweeting my thoughts and some of the great bits of advice and wisdom from the panelists (@circlesoffire handle, under #s2sifp and #ifps2s). Little did I know that I would tweet nearly 200 times over the course of the two days. I already knew that I use Twitter as a way to archive information I want to share with others and keep track of myself, but it was fascinating to be a conduit to the outside world of the panelists' thoughts, 140 characters at at time. It changed the way I processed what was happening -- I was definitely listening for tweet-nuggets by the end -- and it helped me to anchor the information, instead of letting it simply wash through me and then disappear from my consciousness. I also met a handful of wonderful folks at the conference, and happened to also gain around 20 new followers -- which I also didn't expect. To all those now reading this, welcome and I hope you stick around.
When I was looking over my tweets, and all the retweets from folks, it occurred to me that I'd love to give you my "best of show" list, with some annotation for my take-away from the conference. I hope you enjoy it.
Emily's Top Tweets from IFP's Script 2 Screen Conference, March 20-21, 2010
"We're often talking about the 47th step of filmmaking -- and we miss the 'write an original, compelling script' part." #ifps2s
~
The director of the WGA-East just opened with a quote from Marx -- that's Groucho Marx. I know, I was surprised too. #ifps2s
~
"We're not there to serve an agenda. That would kill the show. We're there to make ourselves laugh." #ifps2s [Steve Bodow, Head Writer on The Daily Show]
Piece of advice: When you're coming on the show to be interviewed by Jon, don't try to be funny. That's a contest you're gonna lose. #ifps2s
~
But the idea is to boil down your story to the 30sec pitch--for that notorious elevator ride where you're close to the one you need. #ifps2s
~
"I feel like filmmaking is always a process of figuring out what's feasible." Debra Granik #ifps2s
"Nobody can stand there and say, 'I can't do this, unless I have X.' " Debra Granik. (Amen to that!) #ifps2s
~
"The industry is a cocaine rush of eye candy, and we’re giving them tea." Terry George #ifps2s
~
"In terms of personal branding, you have to have a name that people can spell." (Ryan Koo, as he rips his name card to shorten it) #ifps2s
"Your name is the best currency you have." Zack Lieberman #ifps2s
~
"Zack and I had this project, this woodstove pepperoni pizza, and we were going to studios and pitching it..." Ryan Koo #ifps2s
"saying here it is and it’s tasty and you’ll love it. We’d get to the end of our meeting and they’d say, “We’re lactose intolerant.” #ifps2s
"You need to go in with your pizza and your non-dairy creamer and your head of broccolli and find out what they’re salivating for." #ifps2s
~
"I think it's really important to protect the work that's closest to you." Adam Brooks #ifps2s
"Some writers want to have it both ways: if you sell your script for a million dollars to a studio, you can't protect it anymore."AB #ifps2s
~
"If you tell someone that you're making a movie, people will tell you everything." Brian Koppelman #ifps2s
"They'll tell you about cheating on their wives, secret illegal shit they did. They'll give you everything." Brian Koppelman #ifps2s
~
[Special thanks to @ryanbkoo, @Kfrysztak, @RobinWalker, @YouBrandInc, @elsienw, @bookfeeder, @life_act, @thomasclifford, @marianne_00, @bellasluces and @pattyfantasia for all your RTs. I hope these and the other tweets were helpful to you and your followers!]
"We're often talking about the 47th step of filmmaking -- and we miss the 'write an original, compelling script' part." #ifps2s
There was a great simplicity to this conference. Time and again, the panelists returned to the simple truth of screenwriting: you have to love it if you're going to make it. This tweet was a quote that came early in the conference, from Gordy Hoffman of the BlueCat Screenwriting Competition. Lately, there's been a lot of hustle and bustle about independents needing to cover every aspect of the filmmaking process, from concept to script to production to branding and distribution. This DIY mentality is not to be discounted -- the opportunities are incredible if you can cover all these bases yourself and save the money you might pay someone else to do it. Not only do you save money, you also maintain creative control -- but you run the risk of burn out and forgetting why you did all of this in the first place.
We must remember that we are here to tell stories -- and not just any story, but THE story that MUST BE TOLD by us and only us (thank you, Peter Hedges). Yes, you can work for someone else's story, and you can get paid for telling someone else's story (or the stories that the studio's marketers think will sell), and there's no shame in that. But even as you take those jobs for the paycheck or the craft challenge, you have to protect yourself and the creative baby that you care most about (and we all have at least one of those, see thoughts from Adam Brooks below). You can't take your eyes off the prize. And while strategizing around branding and innovative distribution strategies and what organizations and local businesses can give you access to free resources is absolutely necessary, we must also maintain a balance. You have to love the work, otherwise it will eat you alive.
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The director of the WGA-East just opened with a quote from Marx -- that's Groucho Marx. I know, I was surprised too. #ifps2s
I want to clarify here that I am an ardent supporter of the unions. I currently carry two union cards in my wallet (IATSE Local 52 - Studio Mechanics and Engineers / Video Dept, and IATSE USA Local 829 - Computer Artists), and I expect that, by the end of my life, I will have at least a half-dozen more to add to my stash. I believe in what collective bargaining can do for workers, and I especially understand that the *only* thing that keeps studios from eating workers alive are the unions. We came back at this conference, again and again, to the sentiment that studios only care about money. That applies to more than simply what content they will buy -- it applies to how they will treat the hundreds of thousands of people they employ. And the only thing that stands between me and 17 hour days with no overtime and crap-o-tronic food and no health and safety standards is my union. I get that.
Right now, there is a huge firestorm happening in the UK, because of some legislation to institute a mandatory minimum wage across the industry -- pitting their entertainment union BECTU against shoestring independent filmmakers who count on people working for free to make their films. While the discussion over there has been, by turns, constructive and nasty, I was very interested in the ways that working union or non-union was touched on in this conference. Representatives from the WGA-East were there to talk with people, and there was a lot of great literature from both the WGA and SAG about the low-budget agreements those unions have in place to work with folks who have no money. Basically, folks, it's manageable. It's hoops to jump through and paperwork to fill out and a bit more planning and rules to keep in mind as you grow and get bigger. And I'm telling you, it's worth it. Your people, and you, are worth the effort, especially if you ever want to make a movie for upwards of $1M. Start practicing now.
When I made my pilot Something Blue a few years ago, it was important to me to treat my cast and crew (a brave and determined 18 people) with the seriousness and respect due to them for their labor. I didn't have the money to pay them, but it was important to me to pay them something (everyone received a token $20) and to make the promise, in writing, that I *would* pay them if this pilot was ever picked up. So, I did the research and put together contracts which deferred their pay for all days worked, using union scale rates, to be paid if/when I recouped my production costs plus 10%. I also added the unusual caveat in the contract that I would not pay myself in any of my roles (director, writer, actor, editor, producer -- though I included each of those roles in the budget) until everyone on my crew was paid in full first. I was the one who fronted the money for production, so that first bit of cash plus 10 would still come to me first, but I wanted to let my cast and crew know that I recognized their labor for deferred payment as the precious commodity that it was, above my own in many ways.
So it's an interesting number to talk about, when people ask me how much I spent to make Something Blue. In terms of sheer dollars coming out of my bank account, I made an hour-long pilot for just over $15K (and that includes all the material expenses that I could not defer - roughly $7K - and the equipment investment I made - roughly $8K). But that doesn't tell the whole story, since those individuals I worked with deferred the value of their labor, and a 100% payoff of their deferrals brings the price tag to about $75K. If I also paid myself for my labor, the number jumps to $104K.
I know these numbers are stark -- and are why independents get so freaked out about using union labor. The costs add up fast. But here's the thing -- all of the unions want to work with you to make your low-budget show work, and they get that you have no money and that people are willing to work with you for deferrals. But if your work does get bought or picked up, you have an obligation to pay your cast and crew for their labor. It wasn't free. All of their labor -- and yours -- has value, and giving it away helps no one.
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"We're not there to serve an agenda. That would kill the show. We're there to make ourselves laugh." #ifps2s [Steve Bodow, Head Writer on The Daily Show]
Piece of advice: When you're coming on the show to be interviewed by Jon, don't try to be funny. That's a contest you're gonna lose. #ifps2s
Steve Bodow was the first "conversation" of the conference, where it was only him and and moderator Jason Guerrasio on the stage, and he was fantastic. These are just two gems that I pulled, during a conversation that spanned the conceptual to the practical. I've never thought about what writing for a comedy news show would be like, and had no idea how a person would even go about doing it. Bodow broke down both The Daily Show's writing process and how they accept new writers (via packets of material for the show, personal recommendations, and the rare opening on the team). It was very impressive, and left me with a lot to think about in terms of the benefits of a strict and demanding writing practice (they write their shows collaboratively on a daily basis).
3/23/2010 Edited to Add: For an excellent write-up of the Conversation with Steve Bodow, check out Ryan Koo's notes at NoFilmSchool.com.
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But the idea is to boil down your story to the 30sec pitch--for that notorious elevator ride where you're close to the one you need. #ifps2s
The pitch session was my favorite from the conference, in terms of down-and-dirty, real-world helpful information. The bottom line? Figure out how to tell your story quickly, and then remember that you're selling your idea to people who have money to spend. Talk briefly about genre, or how your story will be marketed. Talk about where you are in the process -- do you have anyone attached? Who's on your team so far? Who's championing your work? Don't worry about box office stats for movies like yours -- the suits already know those numbers. But above all, remember to tell the story. It's what you're there for.
Folks also pointed out that pitches are rarely, if ever, 30 seconds long. The pitches that we got to witness at the conference (five brave souls pitched their movies to the panelists, and then received feedback) weren't 30 seconds long either. Pitches tend to be anywhere from 10-30 minutes. That's just reality, but the thing that I would say is that it's worth it to you to hook your audience within the first 30 seconds. All the background stuff -- your genre, what films your movie is like, who's attached -- is what you get into when you've already got them interested. Unless of course, Oprah is interested in your movie, and then you get that in those first 30 seconds, along with the logline of your flick.
People also like to say that the 30 second pitch is unreasonable, that those elevator stories aren't realistic. When are you going to be in an elevator with Harvey Weinstein? Now, I live in NY, so I have a slightly skewed perspective, but I have to tell you that those chance meetings DO happen. And if you're not ready for them, you'll be kicking yourself for days afterward. You have to be bold, and you have to be ready. It's like an audition -- All that you've got in those 30 seconds or a minute is to light a spark in the person you're talking to, and then press a business card into their hands. That's it. And then, maybe that spark will stay in their consciousness and you'll get a call a few days or a few weeks or a few months later. That's the chance you have to take. So be ready, and make the leap when it comes.
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"I feel like filmmaking is always a process of figuring out what's feasible." Debra Granik #ifps2s
"Nobody can stand there and say, 'I can't do this, unless I have X.' " Debra Granik. (Amen to that!) #ifps2s
I was really impressed by Debra Grenik (Down to the Bone, Winter's Bone). She's the only one who talked explicitly about struggling with being union, and being good with her labor politics -- and I really appreciated that. It's something that no one here in NY talks about very much, in a good faith way, and I wish there was more dialogue about it. I wish the unions did more to educate people about what they're there to do, and how they are up for working with low-budget producers.
She also spoke quite eloquently about the immensity of producing a feature, and I especially appreciated the sentiments named above. It's not about the technology that you're using, or the name actors you want to work with, or anything specific like that. Filmmaking is about the gestalt of all that work, and in many ways, is the product of the numerous times that people say No to you, and you and your crew come up with new solutions. That constant problem-solving is one of the great alchemies of the business. It's never easy, and never straight forward. Nothing ever turns out how you think it will. And that is one of the great beauties of this business. If you can't enjoy that, then, my goodness, get out now.
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"The industry is a cocaine rush of eye candy, and we’re giving them tea." Terry George #ifps2s
Probably one of the top moments of the entire conference. George went on to say, "We say it's good for you -- it's warm and nutritious. It's tea. But we can't do the cocaine because we don't have the money, right?" It was an intriguing coda to me.
On the one hand, the mainstream industry *is* an amusement park, as George also repeated. It's interested in the adrenaline (or cocaine) high, because that's what it can get an audience addicted to and start charging mondo-bucks for. And referring to that as a cocaine-induced high has a moral ring to it -- they're serving the bad drugs and we're serving the high art. But if we could, we totally would be serving the junk too.
This idea that independent cinema is a stepping-stone to the big leagues of mainstream cinema seemed pretty entrenched at this conference, and I was sorry to see that. Many times people used language about "getting to the next level" or "moving up" in their careers to refer to the difference between independent, low-budget cinema and mainstream, studio-driven big-budget cinema. It's worth saying out loud that this is not an inevitable assumption, especially in today's market, technology and distribution-wise. If you just want to make movies, tell your stories, and get it out into the world for people to see -- you can do ALL of that without ever having to shake the hand of any studio marketer. And that would be a good life and a good career. It's not like independents are the farm league and it's illegitimate to think of your work as having worth if it doesn't have a studios emblem at the front of it.
But then again, it really depends on what you want, and it's worth thinking very seriously about how much fame and ubiquity and sheer gobs of money factor in to that. Making enough money to make your next film is very different from dying a rich man. It's a paradigm shift worth considering.
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"In terms of personal branding, you have to have a name that people can spell." (Ryan Koo, as he rips his name card to shorten it) #ifps2s
"Your name is the best currency you have." Zack Lieberman #ifps2s
When Ryan Koo picked up his name card on the panel and ripped it into smaller chunks, it was one of my favorite moments of the entire conference. We have to make our own way in the world as indies and we have to choose the compromises we're willing to make. There is a cult of personality that is forming around filmmakers -- the brand of me, if you will -- and I have some concerns about it as a strategy. But I do agree with both Ryan and Zack that, at the end of the day, your particular charisma and hustle is a major way that films get made and put together. People give you money because they believe in the story, and people give you money because they believe in *you.* Think very carefully about the qualities that you want associated with your name, and then cultivate them.
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"Zack and I had this project, this woodstove pepperoni pizza, and we were going to studios and pitching it..." Ryan Koo #ifps2s
"saying here it is and it’s tasty and you’ll love it. We’d get to the end of our meeting and they’d say, “We’re lactose intolerant.” #ifps2s
"You need to go in with your pizza and your non-dairy creamer and your head of broccolli and find out what they’re salivating for." #ifps2s
Again, I loved this. It's incredibly important to have a portfolio of projects on hand that you can turn to when you're in those pitch meetings, or even as you're looking at your next year and figuring out what you're going to do next to get you closer to your dream project(s). What no one ever says, as we're being dazzled by the next pretty young thing to flash in the pan, is this industry is fundamentally about longevity -- stubborn longevity. Stay in the game long enough, and keep pushing steadily towards your goals, and you will make progress. I can't say, "You'll succeed," because I don't know what success means to you. But will you work? Will you make things? Absolutely.
Personally, I want motion pictures, in one form or medium or another, to be my career for the rest of my life. It's the thing that I am the best at in the whole world, and that I bring the very best of who I am to bear to do. So, of course, I'm biased towards long-term strategies. But I also think it's a question worth asking yourself when it comes to filmmaking -- do you want to do this over the long haul (because a long haul, of at least ten years, is probably what it's going to take)? Do you want to tell this one story and walk away? There's no right or wrong answer, but having those answers will help you sort out what you're willing to do, and what you're willing to compromise on, to get yourself closer to your goals.
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"I think it's really important to protect the work that's closest to you." Adam Brooks #ifps2s
"Some writers want to have it both ways: if you sell your script for a million dollars to a studio, you can't protect it anymore."AB #ifps2s
When I lived in Los Angeles for a few months in the summer of 2001, prior to moving to New York, the way that this was described to me by the industry folks I knew was "cashing the check." As soon as you cash the studio's check, you relinquish control of your property. It's not yours anymore. What you have is *money,* not the property (that is, your darling story). If you can't bear to lose ownership of that story, then do NOT cash that check. Figure out a different way. But if what you want is money, and you can live with giving up that story -- and let's face it, not every project is your darling dream baby -- then take that money and run. Use it to get your dream project made. Or use it to pay off your debts. But do not be surprised when creative control over the property you signed away disappears (unless, of course, you also signed back in some form of creative control through your very expensive and very skillful lawyer when you took that money). Be savvy, folks.
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"If you tell someone that you're making a movie, people will tell you everything." Brian Koppelman #ifps2s
"They'll tell you about cheating on their wives, secret illegal shit they did. They'll give you everything." Brian Koppelman #ifps2s
The last two conversations of the conference were between screenwriters Peter Hedges (Pieces of April, What's Eating Gilbert Grape?) and moderator Adam Brooks, and then Brian Koppelman (The Rounders, The Girlfriend Experience, The Solitary Man) and moderator Elvic Mitchell. Now, I'm a junkie for storytelling, and I'm a meta-junkie for folks talking *about* storytelling and their processes and how they do what they do. Especially when they are as kind, open-hearted and generous as Peter Hedges and Brian Koppelmann were.
What they both reminded us, as aspiring screenwriters, is that movies change people, and they change you in the making of them. There is something incredible about the power that movies have -- like Brian mentions above, the mere mention of a movie often makes folks giddy with excitement to tell all their secrets. This is less true, perhaps, among us who actually work in the movies, because we've already seen the man behind the curtain, and have learned to protect ourselves. But that wonder, that excitement, that drunken sense of possibility -- that's a huge part of the allure of movie-making.
I can still remember what it felt like to be five, sitting in the movie theater with the red velvet chairs, my feet underneath me so I would be tall enough to see the screen, watching a movie in the dark with a few hundred other people. That's how my love for motion pictures began. Now my love is multiplicitous -- taking the shape of sharing a short movie I made on my iPod with friends at a dance club, watching them both hold the small screen together, one ear bud to each of them, and seeing their grins of excitement as they hit the moment I knew would matter most. And thinking about online distros -- and the evenings I've spent with friends in our living rooms, trading YouTube videos, Googling and clicking and finding the right versions, then one-upping each other. The possibilities are so vast. Of course I still dream of the palace theater, and what it feels like to witness a crowd experiencing my film. But I'm not closing my eyes to other roads, other forms, and other experiences. As was also said, time and time again, it does come back to the story. And that, no matter what the form, is the thing that matters most.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Dream Bigger: Thoughts on Katherine Bigelow's Academy Awards
The day after Katherine Bigelow won the Academy Award for Best Director, and her film Hurt Locker took home Best Picture too (among others), I read a compilation of responses from women filmmakers on the blog Women and Hollywood. It's a diverse series of reactions, ranging from the celebratory to the yearning to the skeptical, and it's worth the read.
I had also read, weeks before, the marvelous New York Magazine article "The Red Carpet Campaign: Inside the singular hysteria of the Academy Awards race." by Mark Harris, which begins and ends with Katherine Bigelow. "It's time," Harris states plainly. "It's her turn." Harris' article enumerates the many Oscar narratives that people tell about the nominees -- The Cinderella Story, The Come Back, The Long Shot, and so on. I haven't even seen Hurt Locker, but I found Harris' article so compelling -- and with such a nuanced understanding of the politics of Hollywood and the Academy -- that it felt like a foregone conclusion that Bigelow would win. It's the right story at the right time, especially with the added subplot of indie ex-wife snubs blockbuster ex-husband.
But as I sat in the living room with some of my best friends in the world, in an Oscar party that rides the line between scathing critique and deep cinephilia (and I wouldn't have it any other way), I watched as my friend burst into tears when Bigelow won for Best Director. And this is no Pollyanna we're talking about, but a tough, sharp as a tack, New York Jew. She warned us all ahead of time that she would probably cry if Bigelow won. I just didn't think she was serious.
My friend's sister said, "You know I will still hate her if she wins and doesn't say anything anti-war." Bigelow didn't. She trembled and held Oscars in both hands and kept her eyes down like she couldn't believe what was happening. She soft-pedaled her relationship to the armed forces, with the generally palatable appeal to "come home safe." She spoke of collaboration as the secret to directing -- which I think is true, but also makes me think about the complexities of female socialization, and how hard it is for a woman to hold the spotlight and say, "Yes, that was me. This is mine. I did it" and not mention anyone else, but especially men, who "made it possible." She then made an even odder dedication to "all of the people in uniform" around the world, who serve a greater good. EMTs, firemen, cops, catholic school children...
I don't mean to be a jerk. And I don't hate Katherine Bigelow, like my friend's sister might. But neither did I cry when she won because I felt some meaningful glass ceiling break around me. When Bigelow won, I saw a woman draped in privilege who had worked really hard for decades catch the brass ring. That's great, but I did not see an icon of the feminist movement walk off that stage, despite the Academy's memorable choice of "I am Woman (Hear Me Roar)" as background music. Bigelow is a woman who carries privilege across nearly every spectrum (she's white, heterosexual, thin, able-bodied, owning class, native English speaker, conventionally gendered and beautiful) except that she's female, and has made movie after movie which showcase men and community among men (bikers, surfers, cops, soldiers, etc.). It's not that women are wholly absent from her films -- they do make notable appearances, and are often fairly well-nuanced as characters. But it is definitely a "man's world" in Bigelow's films.
That focus on masculinity makes her win as Best Director a bit hollow for me. I've read commentary about how it's not important that Bigelow is a woman -- she's a filmmaker first, and this is Hollywood's way of recognizing that. But at the same time, she's held up as the first woman to do it, to win the big prize and run with the big boys, two-fisting her Oscars and making a "real" action movie. Not a soft "woman's film," like Campion does, or Nair, or even Streisand. It's that conflict that makes me ambivalent about her win, and irked by her acceptance speech. As a woman, she can't get away from it being political -- because she IS the first woman to win the award, and how is that possible, honestly, given the depth of women's contributions to Hollywood and the film industry across the globe since the very invention of cinema? Why did it take 83 years for a woman to win Best Director? And why *this* woman now? We have to ask ourselves these questions. And Bigelow should ask herself these questions, too.
The Academy Awards are a game, a contest. Like any pageant, they are about more than just who is the best. The people who should win don't always win. The people who should win don't even always get nominated -- for their entire careers. The Academy Awards are not a meritocracy. This is actually the implication behind the "It's time" Oscar narrative -- the Academy gets it wrong, they show incredible bias and unexamined privilege, and they do it year after year. "It's time," as a satisfying story, is about the very possibility of breaking through prejudice and going against the odds of the dominant paradigm. But in Bigelow's case, the only/primary dominant paradigm she flouted was being female. Don't misunderstand me -- that's not insignificant. But it's certainly not enough for this woman filmmaker either.
If you knew that you had the chance to be the first woman to "make history" by becoming the first female Best Director, why wouldn't you name the women directors who inspired you? The women whose work is a direct (or indirect, or even distant) influence on yours? The women whose names are so rarely spoken today outside of specialized women's studies/cinema studies interdepartmental classes in expensive grad schools? Alice Guy-Blache. Dorothy Arzner. Maya Deren. Su Friedrich. Lizzie Borden. Vera Chytilova. Ida Lupino. Kinuyo Tanaka. Monika Treut. And more and more. You have a rare opportunity -- among the rarest pedestals that exist at this time -- to say something transformative. To acknowledge, with gratitude and humility, all those who came before you, and open someone's eyes to the invisibility of their labor, their perseverence and their vision. And all it would take is to say their names. Once.
Instead, Bigelow thanked the Academy, thanked her collaborators, and dedicated the statue to soldiers -- "may they come home safe." She may have given her speech just like any male filmmaker would have, neatly and inoffensively confined to this project and this narrow historical and cultural moment, but it's in such "equality" that I find myself the most grieved. I want more. I want better than that. Breaking a glass ceiling is not an invisible, unspoken event. It happens with a crash, and you'll probably get cut doing it. And so we work hard, for decades, and reach for that brass ring, and reach further, reach harder each time we miss. The moments when you do catch the prize are precious, but we must not lose sight of the ultimate aim -- a more just and liberated world. So keep reaching, friends. Reach further. Dream bigger than tiny ol' Oscar. The prize was never really the statue. The prize is the chance to tell the story.
I had also read, weeks before, the marvelous New York Magazine article "The Red Carpet Campaign: Inside the singular hysteria of the Academy Awards race." by Mark Harris, which begins and ends with Katherine Bigelow. "It's time," Harris states plainly. "It's her turn." Harris' article enumerates the many Oscar narratives that people tell about the nominees -- The Cinderella Story, The Come Back, The Long Shot, and so on. I haven't even seen Hurt Locker, but I found Harris' article so compelling -- and with such a nuanced understanding of the politics of Hollywood and the Academy -- that it felt like a foregone conclusion that Bigelow would win. It's the right story at the right time, especially with the added subplot of indie ex-wife snubs blockbuster ex-husband.
But as I sat in the living room with some of my best friends in the world, in an Oscar party that rides the line between scathing critique and deep cinephilia (and I wouldn't have it any other way), I watched as my friend burst into tears when Bigelow won for Best Director. And this is no Pollyanna we're talking about, but a tough, sharp as a tack, New York Jew. She warned us all ahead of time that she would probably cry if Bigelow won. I just didn't think she was serious.
My friend's sister said, "You know I will still hate her if she wins and doesn't say anything anti-war." Bigelow didn't. She trembled and held Oscars in both hands and kept her eyes down like she couldn't believe what was happening. She soft-pedaled her relationship to the armed forces, with the generally palatable appeal to "come home safe." She spoke of collaboration as the secret to directing -- which I think is true, but also makes me think about the complexities of female socialization, and how hard it is for a woman to hold the spotlight and say, "Yes, that was me. This is mine. I did it" and not mention anyone else, but especially men, who "made it possible." She then made an even odder dedication to "all of the people in uniform" around the world, who serve a greater good. EMTs, firemen, cops, catholic school children...
I don't mean to be a jerk. And I don't hate Katherine Bigelow, like my friend's sister might. But neither did I cry when she won because I felt some meaningful glass ceiling break around me. When Bigelow won, I saw a woman draped in privilege who had worked really hard for decades catch the brass ring. That's great, but I did not see an icon of the feminist movement walk off that stage, despite the Academy's memorable choice of "I am Woman (Hear Me Roar)" as background music. Bigelow is a woman who carries privilege across nearly every spectrum (she's white, heterosexual, thin, able-bodied, owning class, native English speaker, conventionally gendered and beautiful) except that she's female, and has made movie after movie which showcase men and community among men (bikers, surfers, cops, soldiers, etc.). It's not that women are wholly absent from her films -- they do make notable appearances, and are often fairly well-nuanced as characters. But it is definitely a "man's world" in Bigelow's films.
That focus on masculinity makes her win as Best Director a bit hollow for me. I've read commentary about how it's not important that Bigelow is a woman -- she's a filmmaker first, and this is Hollywood's way of recognizing that. But at the same time, she's held up as the first woman to do it, to win the big prize and run with the big boys, two-fisting her Oscars and making a "real" action movie. Not a soft "woman's film," like Campion does, or Nair, or even Streisand. It's that conflict that makes me ambivalent about her win, and irked by her acceptance speech. As a woman, she can't get away from it being political -- because she IS the first woman to win the award, and how is that possible, honestly, given the depth of women's contributions to Hollywood and the film industry across the globe since the very invention of cinema? Why did it take 83 years for a woman to win Best Director? And why *this* woman now? We have to ask ourselves these questions. And Bigelow should ask herself these questions, too.
The Academy Awards are a game, a contest. Like any pageant, they are about more than just who is the best. The people who should win don't always win. The people who should win don't even always get nominated -- for their entire careers. The Academy Awards are not a meritocracy. This is actually the implication behind the "It's time" Oscar narrative -- the Academy gets it wrong, they show incredible bias and unexamined privilege, and they do it year after year. "It's time," as a satisfying story, is about the very possibility of breaking through prejudice and going against the odds of the dominant paradigm. But in Bigelow's case, the only/primary dominant paradigm she flouted was being female. Don't misunderstand me -- that's not insignificant. But it's certainly not enough for this woman filmmaker either.
If you knew that you had the chance to be the first woman to "make history" by becoming the first female Best Director, why wouldn't you name the women directors who inspired you? The women whose work is a direct (or indirect, or even distant) influence on yours? The women whose names are so rarely spoken today outside of specialized women's studies/cinema studies interdepartmental classes in expensive grad schools? Alice Guy-Blache. Dorothy Arzner. Maya Deren. Su Friedrich. Lizzie Borden. Vera Chytilova. Ida Lupino. Kinuyo Tanaka. Monika Treut. And more and more. You have a rare opportunity -- among the rarest pedestals that exist at this time -- to say something transformative. To acknowledge, with gratitude and humility, all those who came before you, and open someone's eyes to the invisibility of their labor, their perseverence and their vision. And all it would take is to say their names. Once.
Instead, Bigelow thanked the Academy, thanked her collaborators, and dedicated the statue to soldiers -- "may they come home safe." She may have given her speech just like any male filmmaker would have, neatly and inoffensively confined to this project and this narrow historical and cultural moment, but it's in such "equality" that I find myself the most grieved. I want more. I want better than that. Breaking a glass ceiling is not an invisible, unspoken event. It happens with a crash, and you'll probably get cut doing it. And so we work hard, for decades, and reach for that brass ring, and reach further, reach harder each time we miss. The moments when you do catch the prize are precious, but we must not lose sight of the ultimate aim -- a more just and liberated world. So keep reaching, friends. Reach further. Dream bigger than tiny ol' Oscar. The prize was never really the statue. The prize is the chance to tell the story.
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