[This blog entry was originally part of a piece from January 2011.]
I thought Winter’s Bone was the best movie I saw all year. It won the 2010 Sundance Grand Jury Prize. I’m kind of partial to Southern, hillbilly noir, or “country noir.” Read the book, Winter’s Bone recently, too. Thought it was great stuff. Raw, lean prose, as they say. A new voice in literature you’ve never heard of, Daniel Woodrell, from the Missouri Ozarks. I look forward to the re-release of his hard to find novels in April. I hope the movie does well at the Academy Awards this year. I loved the uncle character, Teardrop. People tended to give him wide berth. He’s like the crazy-assed country boy who grew up around guns and is not afraid to bust some caps. I’ve known a few. Like a quiet, subdued, country folk equivalent of some psychotic, Joe Pesci character in a Martin Scorsese mob movie.
I watched Howl and thought it was great. It brought back a lot of memories of my youth when I wanted so badly to be a poet like Arthur Rimbaud, Allen Ginsberg… or a Richard Brautigan or Patti Smith… or Bob Dylan, the demigod.
I liked The Killer Inside Me, though I thought it was really creepy, as intended, I guess. It worked. It was difficult to watch at times because of the graphic violence toward women. Read up on Jim Thompson, too. Didn’t know he was a local Ft. Worth boy, though an Okie. Read his bio, Savage Art, by Robert Polito. More hillbilly noir, I suppose, created back in the 1940’s and 1950’s at the dawn of the whole film noir movement. There were some crazy tidbits of information about Texas and Oklahoma characters from the Great Depression era and ensuing years.
Didn’t get to see as many movies as I would have liked in 2010. Scant time available for such luxuries. Hope to see more in 2011. Looking under rocks for some seed money. Jonesing to make another movie. I have to have one more movie in me before I die. Jacksboro Highway? Dead or in Huntsville? A Girl and a Gun? Warboots? Knock on wood….
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Heaven or Hell - Woody Harrelson in Rampart
Woody Harrelson smokes a lot of cigarettes in Rampart. From opening scene to closing scene he has a fag in his mouth. Enough so that it made me want a cigarette as I recently watched the Blu-ray disc, and I haven’t smoked in six years. Rampart is Woody Harrelson at his finest as he portrays Vietnam veteran, Dave “Date Rape” Brown, a tough LA cop in the Rampart division during its historically checkered past, with a bad reputation for smoking the bad guys. Did he or did he not kill the date rapist, thereby earning himself the moniker, Date Rape Dave? Internal Affairs would like to know. So would his two young daughters, who are aware of their dad’s soiled reputation and the ubiquitous media coverage of video footage showing him giving a severe beating to a black, hit-and-run driver trying to flee the scene, after having the misfortune of accidentally smashing into Date Rape Dave’s car.
His youngest daughter also has to ask Dad about her confusing genealogy. He explains to her that her older sister is both her half-sister and first cousin. Seems Woody Harrelson’s character married two sisters in sequential order. Anne Heche plays his ex, while Cynthia Nixon portrays his next. Date Rape sired a daughter by each, and they all share the same house: Date Rape, the two sisters and two daughters, all sharing the same home as one big dysfunctional family, though he is supposed to have moved out already. His older teenage daughter is mad at him. The Anne Heche character hates him and tries to give him the boot but he keeps showing up unannounced. He slips into bed with the other sister later, and she too tells him he needs to pack his bags.
Dave gets a lot of trim in this movie. From the hot black chick who digs cops that he picks up in a bar and later gives a visually stunning toe job to in a motel room, to the mysterious defense attorney played well by Robin Wright whom he also hooks up with in a bar, and who later explains herself thusly with the immortal lines, “And I like to suck cock, so sue me.” Did I mention that master scribe James Ellroy wrote the screenplay?
While watching Rampart it felt as if Abel Ferrara’s coked-up Bad Lieutenant from New York City, played so well by Harvey Keitel twenty years ago, had stumbled into a Hawaiian-shirted, James Ellroy version of a Los Angeles cop movie. I realized I was watching a noir version of Bad Lieutenant, and not a bad version at that. Though director Oren Moverman evidently made a lot of changes to the Ellroy script and ended up sharing screenwriting credit with Ellroy, who is arguably one of the greatest American writers ever with his hugely popular and uniquely stylistic series of crime novels: the USA Underworld Trilogy and his LA Quartet, the most famous of which is LA Confidential. The fact alone that Ellroy wrote the script was enough to get me out of the house and into the theater when Rampart first premiered in 2011. One also learns from the director’s and cinematographer Bobby Bukowski’s co-commentary that there were no rehearsals and the actors were encouraged to improvise.
And it has a great supporting cast. Ned Beatty as the old school, retired, father-figure cop who gives Date Rape a tip on an illegal card game that’s going to get robbed, so Date Rape can show up and save the day by busting some caps in pursuit of the card game thieves. Sigourney Weaver portrays the IA bigwig who wants Date Rape to retire and make the “shitstorm” of his recent media coverage and sordid career go away. Ben Foster, who was also given producer credit, Steve Buscemi and Ice Cube also have small roles. But it is Woody Harrelson as Ellroy’s misogynistic, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, priapic cop who steals the show as only Woody Harrelson can. He threatens the maître D at a posh hotel with busting him for the hookers in his lobby if he doesn’t hook him up with a free room and a bottle of Scotch. Later he extorts lorazepam and phenobarbital from a pharmacist whose boyfriend just got busted by saying he can make the charges go away. Later he extorts the same pharmacist again, telling him to give him something to “Take me up this time and something to keep it hard.” He goes to some sort of kinky sex club and after wandering around awhile in a drunken and/or drugged stupor, he gorges himself at a buffet table like a pig, eating with his hands as he gormandizes, shoving more and more food down his throat, until graphically vomiting in the bathroom. When leaving the club in the middle of the night, he stumbles and falls down on the sidewalk as onlookers look on impassively; but being the super-stud cop that he is, he manages to get back up and leave.
As the movie progresses, Date Rape becomes more obscured and in the background, and in shadows, and in reflections; like a specter, according to the cinematographer’s comments. I thought it was extremely well done in that respect. I thought the dark, shadowy scenes and intermittent use of natural lighting was all brilliantly done by Bobby Bukowski. Kudos is also due to David Wasco for his skills as production designer. Oren Moverman uses a lot of close ups in his direction, which I also thought was well done, highlighting Woody’s character’s rough exterior and facial features, and also bringing out the character’s inner pain, or lack thereof. You just can’t go wrong with Woody Harrelson playing the lead role in a James Ellroy cop script. That’s a match made in heaven – or hell. If you are a fan of Woody Harrelson, James Ellroy, or film noir, Rampart is a movie not to be missed.
His youngest daughter also has to ask Dad about her confusing genealogy. He explains to her that her older sister is both her half-sister and first cousin. Seems Woody Harrelson’s character married two sisters in sequential order. Anne Heche plays his ex, while Cynthia Nixon portrays his next. Date Rape sired a daughter by each, and they all share the same house: Date Rape, the two sisters and two daughters, all sharing the same home as one big dysfunctional family, though he is supposed to have moved out already. His older teenage daughter is mad at him. The Anne Heche character hates him and tries to give him the boot but he keeps showing up unannounced. He slips into bed with the other sister later, and she too tells him he needs to pack his bags.
Dave gets a lot of trim in this movie. From the hot black chick who digs cops that he picks up in a bar and later gives a visually stunning toe job to in a motel room, to the mysterious defense attorney played well by Robin Wright whom he also hooks up with in a bar, and who later explains herself thusly with the immortal lines, “And I like to suck cock, so sue me.” Did I mention that master scribe James Ellroy wrote the screenplay?
While watching Rampart it felt as if Abel Ferrara’s coked-up Bad Lieutenant from New York City, played so well by Harvey Keitel twenty years ago, had stumbled into a Hawaiian-shirted, James Ellroy version of a Los Angeles cop movie. I realized I was watching a noir version of Bad Lieutenant, and not a bad version at that. Though director Oren Moverman evidently made a lot of changes to the Ellroy script and ended up sharing screenwriting credit with Ellroy, who is arguably one of the greatest American writers ever with his hugely popular and uniquely stylistic series of crime novels: the USA Underworld Trilogy and his LA Quartet, the most famous of which is LA Confidential. The fact alone that Ellroy wrote the script was enough to get me out of the house and into the theater when Rampart first premiered in 2011. One also learns from the director’s and cinematographer Bobby Bukowski’s co-commentary that there were no rehearsals and the actors were encouraged to improvise.
And it has a great supporting cast. Ned Beatty as the old school, retired, father-figure cop who gives Date Rape a tip on an illegal card game that’s going to get robbed, so Date Rape can show up and save the day by busting some caps in pursuit of the card game thieves. Sigourney Weaver portrays the IA bigwig who wants Date Rape to retire and make the “shitstorm” of his recent media coverage and sordid career go away. Ben Foster, who was also given producer credit, Steve Buscemi and Ice Cube also have small roles. But it is Woody Harrelson as Ellroy’s misogynistic, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, priapic cop who steals the show as only Woody Harrelson can. He threatens the maître D at a posh hotel with busting him for the hookers in his lobby if he doesn’t hook him up with a free room and a bottle of Scotch. Later he extorts lorazepam and phenobarbital from a pharmacist whose boyfriend just got busted by saying he can make the charges go away. Later he extorts the same pharmacist again, telling him to give him something to “Take me up this time and something to keep it hard.” He goes to some sort of kinky sex club and after wandering around awhile in a drunken and/or drugged stupor, he gorges himself at a buffet table like a pig, eating with his hands as he gormandizes, shoving more and more food down his throat, until graphically vomiting in the bathroom. When leaving the club in the middle of the night, he stumbles and falls down on the sidewalk as onlookers look on impassively; but being the super-stud cop that he is, he manages to get back up and leave.
As the movie progresses, Date Rape becomes more obscured and in the background, and in shadows, and in reflections; like a specter, according to the cinematographer’s comments. I thought it was extremely well done in that respect. I thought the dark, shadowy scenes and intermittent use of natural lighting was all brilliantly done by Bobby Bukowski. Kudos is also due to David Wasco for his skills as production designer. Oren Moverman uses a lot of close ups in his direction, which I also thought was well done, highlighting Woody’s character’s rough exterior and facial features, and also bringing out the character’s inner pain, or lack thereof. You just can’t go wrong with Woody Harrelson playing the lead role in a James Ellroy cop script. That’s a match made in heaven – or hell. If you are a fan of Woody Harrelson, James Ellroy, or film noir, Rampart is a movie not to be missed.
Monday, October 15, 2012
My screenplay, JUNKYARD DOG. The First Ten Pages
The following is the first ten pages of my science fiction screenplay, Junkyard Dog. It's about a baby that is abandoned in a junkyard in Los Angeles and is raised by urban coyotes, and grows up to be a vigilante crime fighter with a souped-up hybrid car made from spare junkyard parts. It did not transfer quite right from Word, but hopefully the gist of it is there.
FADE IN:
EXT. LATIN AMERICAN COUNTRY – SLUMS – NIGHT
ALBERTO GUZMAN, a young laborer wearing work clothes and in his mid-twenties hastily makes his way down the crowded street, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is following him.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
Inside the small, one-room, dirt-floor shack, ANGELICA GUZMAN, early twenties, cooks tortillas on an old gas stove. The room is small and cramped, with little more than a table, four chairs, a small shelf with a few groceries and a bed.
On the bed an infant child, JUAN GUZMAN, cries.
Two other children, HECTOR GUZMAN, nine, and HELENA GUZMAN, five, sit on the floor beside the bed, playing.
Alberto enters the room with a look of desperation and speaks to his wife with a note of urgency.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We must go now, Angelica.
Angelica looks desperately at her husband. She doesn’t want to believe it.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
What happened?
Alberto reaches behind the shelf and removes a paper bag taped to the back. He opens the bag and removes a small stack of dollars.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
They found the union meeting. They know
Where we live.
Angelica is very disappointed in her husband.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Alberto, why?
Alberto pulls a duffel bag from under the bed.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
(angrily)
Get the children and get ready, now.
ANGELICA
El Norte?
Alberto begins stuffing clothes into the bag.
ALBERTO
Si.
EXT. SLUMS – NIGHT
A beaten up, older model car drives by slowly through the narrow streets.
Inside the car three rough looking characters in civilian clothes, DEATH SQUAD MEMBERS, ride in silence, looking for an address.
On the front seat between the driver and the passenger is an M16 assault rifle.
The Man seated in back of the car clutches an old .32 caliber automatic pistol.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
Alberto and Angelica stand by the door, looking at their small home one last time. They both wear small backpacks, and Alberto holds the duffel bag in one hand, and five-year old Helena in his arm.
Angelica cries as she holds the baby who is now quiet and content in his mother’s arms. Nine year-old Hector stands at his mother’s side.
EXT. SLUMS – ALLEY – NIGHT
Alberto and Angelica walk hurriedly through the alleyway, passing winos, prostitutes, gang members and other street people.
Hector struggles to keep up, holding on to his mother’s skirt.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
The door is kicked in and the three Death Squad Members rush in, weapons at the ready.
EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT
The Guzman family makes their way through the shadows, carrying their worldly possessions.
EXT. ROADSIDE – DAY
The Guzman family sits under a stand of trees away from the road, where they have spent the night.
Angelica breast-feeds Juan while Alberto, Hector and Helena sit nearby and eat burritos for breakfast.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD – DAY
The Guzman family makes their way down the road, the children lagging behind.
Little Juan cries in his mother arms.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
The baby is sick, Alberto.
EXT. FRUIT STAND – DAY
The Guzman family follows a TRUCK DRIVER behind the fruit stand where a semi tractor-trailer is parked.
Alberto hands the Truck Driver several dollar bills.
The Truck Driver leads the Guzmans to the rear of the trailer.
Inside the trailer many ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS are loaded, waiting to be taken to El Norte.
Little Juan cries as the Guzmans are loaded into the trailer.
INT. TRACTOR TRAILER – DAY
The Guzmans sit in the cramped trailer amongst the other Immigrants who look solemnly as Angelica tries to comfort the crying Juan.
EXT. INTERNATIONAL BORDER CROSSING – DAY
The tractor-trailer waits in a line of traffic to cross the border.
There are long lines of cars waiting to go through the numerous traffic lanes.
BORDER PATROL GUARDS at an adjacent lane search the cars with drug-sniffing dogs.
INT. TRAILER – DAY
Everyone sits quietly with a worrisome look on their faces.
Angelica holds Juan close to her bosom, trying to muffle the sound of his cries.
One of the illegal Immigrants hisses under his breath at her.
IMMIGRANT (IN SPANISH)
Shut that kid up before we all
get caught.
EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY
The semi pulls up to the guard booth.
The Truck Driver smiles and waves at the Guard.
The Guard seems to recognize the Driver, and waves him through.
EXT. COLLINS SALVAGE YARD – DAY
A sign out front reads “Collins Salvage Yard - Largest Salvage Yard West of the Pecos.” It is a massive salvage yard, filled with junk cars of every make and model imaginable: old cars, pickup trucks, old rusted school buses, panel trucks of every size and shape.
As far as the eye can see are acres of old automobiles, with dirt roads snaking in between the piles of rusted relics of the past and present. Patches of trees dot the massive acreage. A tall, chain link fence topped with razor wire surrounds the area.
In front of the property is an office with a large parking lot and a gate leading to the salvaged autos.
Behind the office is the Collins family residence. It is a large, two-story, wood framed house. The house itself is a relic of the past, restored and picturesque, with a wrap around front porch and a porch swing.
INT: COLLINS HOME – DEN - DAY
GEORGE COLLINS, a burly man in his early thirties sits at a table going over paperwork. His head is shaved bald, and he sports a large, handlebar moustache. His arms are covered in tattoos, and his biceps look strong enough to crack a walnut in the fold of his arm.
His wife, DORIS COLLINS, a pretty, petite woman a few years younger than her husband, sits in a nearby chair watching over their two year-old daughter, ANNIE COLLINS, who plays with a picture book on the carpet nearby.
George gets up from the table, grabs his car keys, and kisses Doris.
GEORGE
I have go mend the fence, baby,
where the coyotes are getting in.
George picks up Annie and raises her above his head. She smiles and giggles. He kisses her cheek before setting her back down on the carpet.
GEORGE
Got to go, little ‘un. Daddy will
See you later.
INT. TRAILER – DAY
The Illegal Immigrants are drenched in sweat. They sit in anticipation at the end of their long journey.
The door opens wide, letting in sunlight, temporarily blinding the occupants.
EXT. BACKROAD – DAY
The trailer is parked on a little access road by the side of a bridge, on the outskirts of town.
In the distant background are the back acres of the Collins Salvage Yard with its multitude of junk autos.
The Guzman family exits with the rest of the Immigrants, happy to be out in the sunshine and in El Norte.
The Truck Driver is impatient.
TRUCK DRIVER (IN SPANISH)
Hurry up. Hurry, hurry.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
It is just a few hours before dark. The sun is slowly sinking on the horizon. All seems quiet except for an occasional bird chirping in a nearby tree, and the sounds of traffic on a highway nearby.
An old faded and rusted panel truck that used to hawk automotive tools sits under a nearby tree. Its tires are missing and the back door is slightly ajar.
Suddenly a baby cries.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Alberto, Hector and Helena sit in the back of the truck, eating cold flour tortillas and drinking from plastic water bottles.
Angelica tries to soothe the crying Juan. Juan finally stops crying. Angelica turns her sad stare to Alberto.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Our baby is so sick, Alberto.
I don’t know what is wrong.
How are we going to take care
of him on the road? With no
place to go and no food to eat?
A worried looking Alberto has no answer.
ALBERTO
I don’t know, Angelica.
From outside the panel truck comes the sound of children’s voices.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
A fancy Mercedes Benz bearing a RICH FAMILY drives by slowly. A young BOY and GIRL hang out the windows of the car, gazing at the junk cars.
A RICH MAN and his RICH WIFE ride in the front seat.
The car stops not far from the panel truck.
INT. PANEL TRUCK - EVENING
Alberto and his family peek through the door of the panel truck. Angelica clutches the silent Juan close to her bosom, in hopes he will not cry out.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
The Rich Family gets out of the car. The Rich Man holds a couple of tools and a flashlight in his hands.
RICH MAN
The owner said that Chevy was
right behind these cars.
The kids begin running around, playing.
The Rich Wife calls out to her children.
RICH WIFE
Sidney, Chase, come on now.
We have to go help Daddy get
his car part before it gets
too dark.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Alberto watches through the door of the panel truck as the Rich Family disappear from sight into the mass of junk cars.
Alberto turns to Angelica with a resolute look on his face.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
Give me Juan.
Angelica looks at him puzzled.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Why?
Alberto takes Juan from her arms and holds him close.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We can’t provide for this baby,
but that family can.
Angelica realizes what he is about to do.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Alberto, no!
Little Hector and Helena look up in astonishment at their parents.
Alberto places Juan, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping, in a small cardboard box.
Alberto steps out of the truck with little Juan in the box.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
Alberto creeps up to the car and places the box on the trunk of the Mercedes.
He runs back to the panel truck.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Angelica, Hector and Helena sob together as Alberto enters the panel truck and begins gathering their belongings.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
Get your things, we must go.
Hector, tears streaming, looks up at his father sobbing.
HECTOR (IN SPANISH)
Papa, don’t give them Juan Diego.
Alberto chokes back tears.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
He’ll have a better life, mijo.
EXT. CREEK BED – EVENING
Alberto, Angelica, Hector and Helena walk through a creek bed.
Angelica looks back toward the salvage yard, tears streaming down her face. Her children sob as they walk beside her.
Alberto looks at his family beside him as the sun goes down in the distance. He too can no longer hold back the tears.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – NIGHT
It is dark and poor little Juan Diego sleeps peacefully in the cardboard box atop the trunk of the Mercedes.
A flashlight in the distance reveals the Rich Family making their way back to the car. They have stayed longer than they intended.
The Rich Man holds the flashlight, tools and an automotive part wrapped in oil rags as they approach the car.
RICH MAN
Watch your step.
They all climb into the car, not noticing the box on the trunk.
The Rich Man starts the engine, puts the car in gear, and drives off, causing the cardboard box to tumble into the dirt, where it tips over and Juan Diego spills out, crying.
The Mercedes disappears down the dirt road.
EXT. UNDER A BRIDGE – NIGHT
Alberto, Angelica, Hector and Helena settle in for the night under the bridge.
They eat tortillas as they sit in silence. Alberto finally breaks the silence.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We should be happy for Juan Diego.
He will have opportunities we
could never give him. Maybe
someday we’ll see him again.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – NIGHT
It is pitch dark as little Juan cries into the night, and there is no one to hear him in the silent, vast junkyard.
Suddenly a MAMA COYOTE appears from behind a junked car.
She hears the crying and sees Juan lying in the dirt beside the cardboard box.
She raises her nose and sniffs the air for intruders.
FADE IN:
EXT. LATIN AMERICAN COUNTRY – SLUMS – NIGHT
ALBERTO GUZMAN, a young laborer wearing work clothes and in his mid-twenties hastily makes his way down the crowded street, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is following him.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
Inside the small, one-room, dirt-floor shack, ANGELICA GUZMAN, early twenties, cooks tortillas on an old gas stove. The room is small and cramped, with little more than a table, four chairs, a small shelf with a few groceries and a bed.
On the bed an infant child, JUAN GUZMAN, cries.
Two other children, HECTOR GUZMAN, nine, and HELENA GUZMAN, five, sit on the floor beside the bed, playing.
Alberto enters the room with a look of desperation and speaks to his wife with a note of urgency.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We must go now, Angelica.
Angelica looks desperately at her husband. She doesn’t want to believe it.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
What happened?
Alberto reaches behind the shelf and removes a paper bag taped to the back. He opens the bag and removes a small stack of dollars.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
They found the union meeting. They know
Where we live.
Angelica is very disappointed in her husband.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Alberto, why?
Alberto pulls a duffel bag from under the bed.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
(angrily)
Get the children and get ready, now.
ANGELICA
El Norte?
Alberto begins stuffing clothes into the bag.
ALBERTO
Si.
EXT. SLUMS – NIGHT
A beaten up, older model car drives by slowly through the narrow streets.
Inside the car three rough looking characters in civilian clothes, DEATH SQUAD MEMBERS, ride in silence, looking for an address.
On the front seat between the driver and the passenger is an M16 assault rifle.
The Man seated in back of the car clutches an old .32 caliber automatic pistol.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
Alberto and Angelica stand by the door, looking at their small home one last time. They both wear small backpacks, and Alberto holds the duffel bag in one hand, and five-year old Helena in his arm.
Angelica cries as she holds the baby who is now quiet and content in his mother’s arms. Nine year-old Hector stands at his mother’s side.
EXT. SLUMS – ALLEY – NIGHT
Alberto and Angelica walk hurriedly through the alleyway, passing winos, prostitutes, gang members and other street people.
Hector struggles to keep up, holding on to his mother’s skirt.
INT. CINDER BLOCK SHANTY – NIGHT
The door is kicked in and the three Death Squad Members rush in, weapons at the ready.
EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT
The Guzman family makes their way through the shadows, carrying their worldly possessions.
EXT. ROADSIDE – DAY
The Guzman family sits under a stand of trees away from the road, where they have spent the night.
Angelica breast-feeds Juan while Alberto, Hector and Helena sit nearby and eat burritos for breakfast.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD – DAY
The Guzman family makes their way down the road, the children lagging behind.
Little Juan cries in his mother arms.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
The baby is sick, Alberto.
EXT. FRUIT STAND – DAY
The Guzman family follows a TRUCK DRIVER behind the fruit stand where a semi tractor-trailer is parked.
Alberto hands the Truck Driver several dollar bills.
The Truck Driver leads the Guzmans to the rear of the trailer.
Inside the trailer many ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS are loaded, waiting to be taken to El Norte.
Little Juan cries as the Guzmans are loaded into the trailer.
INT. TRACTOR TRAILER – DAY
The Guzmans sit in the cramped trailer amongst the other Immigrants who look solemnly as Angelica tries to comfort the crying Juan.
EXT. INTERNATIONAL BORDER CROSSING – DAY
The tractor-trailer waits in a line of traffic to cross the border.
There are long lines of cars waiting to go through the numerous traffic lanes.
BORDER PATROL GUARDS at an adjacent lane search the cars with drug-sniffing dogs.
INT. TRAILER – DAY
Everyone sits quietly with a worrisome look on their faces.
Angelica holds Juan close to her bosom, trying to muffle the sound of his cries.
One of the illegal Immigrants hisses under his breath at her.
IMMIGRANT (IN SPANISH)
Shut that kid up before we all
get caught.
EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY
The semi pulls up to the guard booth.
The Truck Driver smiles and waves at the Guard.
The Guard seems to recognize the Driver, and waves him through.
EXT. COLLINS SALVAGE YARD – DAY
A sign out front reads “Collins Salvage Yard - Largest Salvage Yard West of the Pecos.” It is a massive salvage yard, filled with junk cars of every make and model imaginable: old cars, pickup trucks, old rusted school buses, panel trucks of every size and shape.
As far as the eye can see are acres of old automobiles, with dirt roads snaking in between the piles of rusted relics of the past and present. Patches of trees dot the massive acreage. A tall, chain link fence topped with razor wire surrounds the area.
In front of the property is an office with a large parking lot and a gate leading to the salvaged autos.
Behind the office is the Collins family residence. It is a large, two-story, wood framed house. The house itself is a relic of the past, restored and picturesque, with a wrap around front porch and a porch swing.
INT: COLLINS HOME – DEN - DAY
GEORGE COLLINS, a burly man in his early thirties sits at a table going over paperwork. His head is shaved bald, and he sports a large, handlebar moustache. His arms are covered in tattoos, and his biceps look strong enough to crack a walnut in the fold of his arm.
His wife, DORIS COLLINS, a pretty, petite woman a few years younger than her husband, sits in a nearby chair watching over their two year-old daughter, ANNIE COLLINS, who plays with a picture book on the carpet nearby.
George gets up from the table, grabs his car keys, and kisses Doris.
GEORGE
I have go mend the fence, baby,
where the coyotes are getting in.
George picks up Annie and raises her above his head. She smiles and giggles. He kisses her cheek before setting her back down on the carpet.
GEORGE
Got to go, little ‘un. Daddy will
See you later.
INT. TRAILER – DAY
The Illegal Immigrants are drenched in sweat. They sit in anticipation at the end of their long journey.
The door opens wide, letting in sunlight, temporarily blinding the occupants.
EXT. BACKROAD – DAY
The trailer is parked on a little access road by the side of a bridge, on the outskirts of town.
In the distant background are the back acres of the Collins Salvage Yard with its multitude of junk autos.
The Guzman family exits with the rest of the Immigrants, happy to be out in the sunshine and in El Norte.
The Truck Driver is impatient.
TRUCK DRIVER (IN SPANISH)
Hurry up. Hurry, hurry.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
It is just a few hours before dark. The sun is slowly sinking on the horizon. All seems quiet except for an occasional bird chirping in a nearby tree, and the sounds of traffic on a highway nearby.
An old faded and rusted panel truck that used to hawk automotive tools sits under a nearby tree. Its tires are missing and the back door is slightly ajar.
Suddenly a baby cries.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Alberto, Hector and Helena sit in the back of the truck, eating cold flour tortillas and drinking from plastic water bottles.
Angelica tries to soothe the crying Juan. Juan finally stops crying. Angelica turns her sad stare to Alberto.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Our baby is so sick, Alberto.
I don’t know what is wrong.
How are we going to take care
of him on the road? With no
place to go and no food to eat?
A worried looking Alberto has no answer.
ALBERTO
I don’t know, Angelica.
From outside the panel truck comes the sound of children’s voices.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
A fancy Mercedes Benz bearing a RICH FAMILY drives by slowly. A young BOY and GIRL hang out the windows of the car, gazing at the junk cars.
A RICH MAN and his RICH WIFE ride in the front seat.
The car stops not far from the panel truck.
INT. PANEL TRUCK - EVENING
Alberto and his family peek through the door of the panel truck. Angelica clutches the silent Juan close to her bosom, in hopes he will not cry out.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
The Rich Family gets out of the car. The Rich Man holds a couple of tools and a flashlight in his hands.
RICH MAN
The owner said that Chevy was
right behind these cars.
The kids begin running around, playing.
The Rich Wife calls out to her children.
RICH WIFE
Sidney, Chase, come on now.
We have to go help Daddy get
his car part before it gets
too dark.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Alberto watches through the door of the panel truck as the Rich Family disappear from sight into the mass of junk cars.
Alberto turns to Angelica with a resolute look on his face.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
Give me Juan.
Angelica looks at him puzzled.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Why?
Alberto takes Juan from her arms and holds him close.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We can’t provide for this baby,
but that family can.
Angelica realizes what he is about to do.
ANGELICA (IN SPANISH)
Alberto, no!
Little Hector and Helena look up in astonishment at their parents.
Alberto places Juan, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping, in a small cardboard box.
Alberto steps out of the truck with little Juan in the box.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – EVENING
Alberto creeps up to the car and places the box on the trunk of the Mercedes.
He runs back to the panel truck.
INT. PANEL TRUCK – EVENING
Angelica, Hector and Helena sob together as Alberto enters the panel truck and begins gathering their belongings.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
Get your things, we must go.
Hector, tears streaming, looks up at his father sobbing.
HECTOR (IN SPANISH)
Papa, don’t give them Juan Diego.
Alberto chokes back tears.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
He’ll have a better life, mijo.
EXT. CREEK BED – EVENING
Alberto, Angelica, Hector and Helena walk through a creek bed.
Angelica looks back toward the salvage yard, tears streaming down her face. Her children sob as they walk beside her.
Alberto looks at his family beside him as the sun goes down in the distance. He too can no longer hold back the tears.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – NIGHT
It is dark and poor little Juan Diego sleeps peacefully in the cardboard box atop the trunk of the Mercedes.
A flashlight in the distance reveals the Rich Family making their way back to the car. They have stayed longer than they intended.
The Rich Man holds the flashlight, tools and an automotive part wrapped in oil rags as they approach the car.
RICH MAN
Watch your step.
They all climb into the car, not noticing the box on the trunk.
The Rich Man starts the engine, puts the car in gear, and drives off, causing the cardboard box to tumble into the dirt, where it tips over and Juan Diego spills out, crying.
The Mercedes disappears down the dirt road.
EXT. UNDER A BRIDGE – NIGHT
Alberto, Angelica, Hector and Helena settle in for the night under the bridge.
They eat tortillas as they sit in silence. Alberto finally breaks the silence.
ALBERTO (IN SPANISH)
We should be happy for Juan Diego.
He will have opportunities we
could never give him. Maybe
someday we’ll see him again.
EXT. SALVAGE YARD – NIGHT
It is pitch dark as little Juan cries into the night, and there is no one to hear him in the silent, vast junkyard.
Suddenly a MAMA COYOTE appears from behind a junked car.
She hears the crying and sees Juan lying in the dirt beside the cardboard box.
She raises her nose and sniffs the air for intruders.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Natural Born Killers Still A Favorite
I can never seem to get enough of Oliver Stone’s 1994 movie, Natural Born Killers. I re-watched the Director’s Cut several nights ago, along with the special features which include director’s commentary, deleted scenes and Chaos Rising; the behind-the-scenes, making-of piece, which has interviews with the actors, producers and crew, and which chronicles the filming and the controversy centered around the violent nature of the movie.
The original screenplay was penned by Quentin Tarantino, before he became “the” Quentin Tarantino. There was a big brouhaha in the press around the time of release about then neophyte producers Jane Hamsher and Don Murphy, JD Productions, optioning the screenplay from Tarantino, who in the meantime became quite famous from the success of Reservoir Dogs. Purportedly Tarantino hoped to get the script back after the year-option expired, so he could make the movie himself, and a big feud erupted between Tarantino and JD Productions, culminating in Don Murphy supposedly saying he would openly celebrate Tarantino’s death, and Tarantino slapping Murphy in the face at a famous LA restaurant.
After the movie was released, Jane Hamsher’s book, Killer Instincts: How Two Young Producers Took on Hollywood and Made the Most Controversial Film of the Decade was published. Killer Instincts is a great, gossipy read about the underbelly of making movies in Hollywood, and the excitement and unique craziness of making a movie with the legendary Oliver Stone.
As the story goes, just when JD Productions was about to lose the option, purportedly due to underhanded, behind the scene maneuvers of Tarantino, Oliver Stone stepped in as director to help Hamsher and Murphy make the movie. He also re-wrote the script, much to the chagrin of Tarantino, with the help of David Veloz and Richard Rutowski.
The whole sordid affair was fodder for the tabloids and gossip mills, and I ate up everything I could find on the movie, since I am one of the biggest Oliver Stone fans on the planet. And I must confess a big fan of Tarantino’s earlier work, as Tarantino was also a big influence on my own wannabe, screenwriting attempts. I snatched up and eagerly devoured every book, magazine and shred of press material I could find on both filmmakers at the time. I’m still a big fan of both auteurs, but Stone is by far the better and more serious filmmaker, and in that famous feud, I would still fall into Stone’s camp.
When I first saw Natural Born Killers on the big screen, I really didn’t like it. I much preferred the serious Stone films, and upon first viewing, I was disappointed. I thought Natural Born Killers was kind of silly and awkward, and even incongruously silly and horrific. It was shocking in places. It was creepy in places. I usually don’t like movies that mix violence and comedy, and I’m not much into satire. As a matter of fact, I didn’t like Natural Born Killers so much, that I ended up watching it ten times on the big screen! And yes, I still have all my chromosomes. By the second and third viewings, I liked it a lot and recognized it as a work of genius: a psychedelic, satirical, no-holds-barred, violent love story. And I must confess, I do love violent love stories. (The Tarantino penned, True Romance, for instance, is a great, violent love story.) By the fourth through the tenth big screen viewings, I took along as many friends as I could and watched it to study camera angles, sets, props, acting skills, etc. I studied that movie intensely, as a devoted, armchair student of film and all things Oliver Stone.
Of course, more controversy eventually erupted over the movie as copycat killings and violent crimes began to occur and be attributed to the movie. Mystery writer and attorney John Grisham even went so far as to help bring a lawsuit against Oliver Stone and Time Warner on behalf of one of the victims. (I have since boycotted all things John Grisham.) According to newspaper accounts at the time, one of the copycat killings even happened on the roof of a convenient store on the NW corner of Midway and Rosemeade, about a stone’s throw from the apartment where I lived in Dallas for many years and made my own movie. The Grisham lawsuit was unsuccessful, thankfully, and no precedent was set which would make filmmaker’s and artists responsible for the actions of a few lunatics and lost souls who might act upon movies, plays, books, poems or other art forms or media created by artists whose soul intent is to move, enlighten or entertain an audience. Tragic indeed when life imitates art in such a way as to cause a murder, and my heart does go out to the victims and their families. But one cannot prosecute Martin Scorcese or Paul Schrader because John Hinckley shot President Reagan purportedly due to an infatuation with the Jodie Foster teen prostitute character, Iris, in the movie Taxi Driver.
It was Aristotle who said, “Art imitates life,” and Oscar Wilde who countered centuries later, “Life imitates art.” I remember reading John Lennon’s Playboy magazine interview in 1980 in which he mentioned he was subsisting on Hershey’s with Almonds candy bars and Gauloise cigarettes. I rushed out and purchased and consumed both of those items simply to experience what John Lennon experienced. Life imitating art, one might say. I couldn’t very well sue John Lennon or Playboy magazine if I developed lung cancer or a tooth cavity, though eating Hershey’s with Almonds and smoking French cigarettes was my way of imitating the artist, John Lennon; silly though it may have been.
Nowadays in film, product placement has become the evil twin of life imitating art. Movie production companies now include brand name, consumer products in their movies in order to raise production funds from corporations that market the products. It’s an art-compromising way to subliminally include commercials into movies to make a buck. When famed filmmaker, David Lynch was asked what he thought about product placement in movies, he replied emphatically, “Bullshit, total fucking bullshit.”
One of the things that struck me as I watched the opening scene of Natural Born Killers is the inclusion by Oliver Stone of various “natural born killers” and inhabitants of the desert: such as the coyote, the rattlesnake, the hawk, the scorpion and the rednecks with the dead deer on the roof of the truck; all killers in their own right, yet all a part of the natural order of the planet. As Mickey Knox says in the nationally televised, prison interview on Super Bowl Sunday that comes later in the movie, “It’s just murder… all God’s creatures do it… the wolf doesn’t know why he’s a wolf - the deer doesn’t know why he’s a deer. God just made it that way.” He goes on to say: “The media is like the weather, except it’s manmade.” Those may be wise observations from a demented mind about the cruelty of nature, but still rather chilling statements to a viewer in a civilized society.
The movie is chocked full of oblique angles, jump cuts, black and white footage and every conceivable angle and film format known to mankind. It is a visual onslaught that never lets up throughout the whole movie: a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic, drug-induced romp through every conceivable manipulation ever dedicated to film. According to Hamsher’s book and interviews included in the Director’s Cut, she and Oliver Stone and others ate hallucinogenic mushrooms while scouting film locations in the desert. The movie itself tries to imitate a psychedelic trip, and successfully does so in my humble opinion.
One of the film’s most disturbing scenes to me is the backstory of Juliette Lewis’s character, Mallory, and her life at home with her abusive father, Jack, eerily played by Rodney Dangerfield. As the scene unfolds and it is made apparent that Jack has physically and sexually abused his daughter, the scene is nonetheless shot as a sitcom, complete with a laugh track included at the most sinister moments. The incongruity of that juxtaposition of a very creepy scene with a laugh track layered in was quite troubling to me, and difficult to watch. It is also at that juncture where Tarantino, during his first viewing of Natural Born Killers, supposedly walked out of the movie theater and said he would, “Watch it on cable someday.” Evidently he did not approve of the rewrites or Stone’s interpretation of his original script. Tarantino had even insisted that he be given screen credit for the “story’’ only, when he was made aware of the numerous changes to his original script.
The cast of Natural Born Killers did a great job. Stone said one reason he cast Woody Harrelson was because Woody’s father, hit man Charles Harrelson, infamously assassinated a federal judge in Texas in 1979, and Stone thought there was something in Woody’s genetic makeup that would bring out something extra in the Mickey Knox character. Juliette Lewis was dedicated to the role of Mallory Knox, and it shows in her flawless performance. Robert Downey, Jr. almost steals the show as the TV journalist, Wayne Gale. Tommy Lee Jones gives a rare performance as the cruel, nose-picking prison warden with his crude, instruments of torture. Tom Sizemore rounded out the cast very well playing the famous, memoir-writing lawman that is hired to track down the psychotic, murderous lovers. As we find out, he too is a killer who strangles a prostitute in a motel as he searches for Mickey and Mallory.
There are no heroes it seems in Natural Born Killers. According to Oliver Stone, “Once [Mickey and Mallory] kill, they’ve entered into this world of breaking all the rules. It’s fitting that the filmmaker is also breaking the rules, with them.”
Maybe to some, Natural Born Killers is a sick, controversial movie, unrealistically portraying a sick world. But, as Tommy Lee Jones says in the interview in Chaos Rising, “You don’t have to be a very sophisticated person to know that this is not an exploitation film. This is an art film.”
The original screenplay was penned by Quentin Tarantino, before he became “the” Quentin Tarantino. There was a big brouhaha in the press around the time of release about then neophyte producers Jane Hamsher and Don Murphy, JD Productions, optioning the screenplay from Tarantino, who in the meantime became quite famous from the success of Reservoir Dogs. Purportedly Tarantino hoped to get the script back after the year-option expired, so he could make the movie himself, and a big feud erupted between Tarantino and JD Productions, culminating in Don Murphy supposedly saying he would openly celebrate Tarantino’s death, and Tarantino slapping Murphy in the face at a famous LA restaurant.
After the movie was released, Jane Hamsher’s book, Killer Instincts: How Two Young Producers Took on Hollywood and Made the Most Controversial Film of the Decade was published. Killer Instincts is a great, gossipy read about the underbelly of making movies in Hollywood, and the excitement and unique craziness of making a movie with the legendary Oliver Stone.
As the story goes, just when JD Productions was about to lose the option, purportedly due to underhanded, behind the scene maneuvers of Tarantino, Oliver Stone stepped in as director to help Hamsher and Murphy make the movie. He also re-wrote the script, much to the chagrin of Tarantino, with the help of David Veloz and Richard Rutowski.
The whole sordid affair was fodder for the tabloids and gossip mills, and I ate up everything I could find on the movie, since I am one of the biggest Oliver Stone fans on the planet. And I must confess a big fan of Tarantino’s earlier work, as Tarantino was also a big influence on my own wannabe, screenwriting attempts. I snatched up and eagerly devoured every book, magazine and shred of press material I could find on both filmmakers at the time. I’m still a big fan of both auteurs, but Stone is by far the better and more serious filmmaker, and in that famous feud, I would still fall into Stone’s camp.
When I first saw Natural Born Killers on the big screen, I really didn’t like it. I much preferred the serious Stone films, and upon first viewing, I was disappointed. I thought Natural Born Killers was kind of silly and awkward, and even incongruously silly and horrific. It was shocking in places. It was creepy in places. I usually don’t like movies that mix violence and comedy, and I’m not much into satire. As a matter of fact, I didn’t like Natural Born Killers so much, that I ended up watching it ten times on the big screen! And yes, I still have all my chromosomes. By the second and third viewings, I liked it a lot and recognized it as a work of genius: a psychedelic, satirical, no-holds-barred, violent love story. And I must confess, I do love violent love stories. (The Tarantino penned, True Romance, for instance, is a great, violent love story.) By the fourth through the tenth big screen viewings, I took along as many friends as I could and watched it to study camera angles, sets, props, acting skills, etc. I studied that movie intensely, as a devoted, armchair student of film and all things Oliver Stone.
Of course, more controversy eventually erupted over the movie as copycat killings and violent crimes began to occur and be attributed to the movie. Mystery writer and attorney John Grisham even went so far as to help bring a lawsuit against Oliver Stone and Time Warner on behalf of one of the victims. (I have since boycotted all things John Grisham.) According to newspaper accounts at the time, one of the copycat killings even happened on the roof of a convenient store on the NW corner of Midway and Rosemeade, about a stone’s throw from the apartment where I lived in Dallas for many years and made my own movie. The Grisham lawsuit was unsuccessful, thankfully, and no precedent was set which would make filmmaker’s and artists responsible for the actions of a few lunatics and lost souls who might act upon movies, plays, books, poems or other art forms or media created by artists whose soul intent is to move, enlighten or entertain an audience. Tragic indeed when life imitates art in such a way as to cause a murder, and my heart does go out to the victims and their families. But one cannot prosecute Martin Scorcese or Paul Schrader because John Hinckley shot President Reagan purportedly due to an infatuation with the Jodie Foster teen prostitute character, Iris, in the movie Taxi Driver.
It was Aristotle who said, “Art imitates life,” and Oscar Wilde who countered centuries later, “Life imitates art.” I remember reading John Lennon’s Playboy magazine interview in 1980 in which he mentioned he was subsisting on Hershey’s with Almonds candy bars and Gauloise cigarettes. I rushed out and purchased and consumed both of those items simply to experience what John Lennon experienced. Life imitating art, one might say. I couldn’t very well sue John Lennon or Playboy magazine if I developed lung cancer or a tooth cavity, though eating Hershey’s with Almonds and smoking French cigarettes was my way of imitating the artist, John Lennon; silly though it may have been.
Nowadays in film, product placement has become the evil twin of life imitating art. Movie production companies now include brand name, consumer products in their movies in order to raise production funds from corporations that market the products. It’s an art-compromising way to subliminally include commercials into movies to make a buck. When famed filmmaker, David Lynch was asked what he thought about product placement in movies, he replied emphatically, “Bullshit, total fucking bullshit.”
One of the things that struck me as I watched the opening scene of Natural Born Killers is the inclusion by Oliver Stone of various “natural born killers” and inhabitants of the desert: such as the coyote, the rattlesnake, the hawk, the scorpion and the rednecks with the dead deer on the roof of the truck; all killers in their own right, yet all a part of the natural order of the planet. As Mickey Knox says in the nationally televised, prison interview on Super Bowl Sunday that comes later in the movie, “It’s just murder… all God’s creatures do it… the wolf doesn’t know why he’s a wolf - the deer doesn’t know why he’s a deer. God just made it that way.” He goes on to say: “The media is like the weather, except it’s manmade.” Those may be wise observations from a demented mind about the cruelty of nature, but still rather chilling statements to a viewer in a civilized society.
The movie is chocked full of oblique angles, jump cuts, black and white footage and every conceivable angle and film format known to mankind. It is a visual onslaught that never lets up throughout the whole movie: a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic, drug-induced romp through every conceivable manipulation ever dedicated to film. According to Hamsher’s book and interviews included in the Director’s Cut, she and Oliver Stone and others ate hallucinogenic mushrooms while scouting film locations in the desert. The movie itself tries to imitate a psychedelic trip, and successfully does so in my humble opinion.
One of the film’s most disturbing scenes to me is the backstory of Juliette Lewis’s character, Mallory, and her life at home with her abusive father, Jack, eerily played by Rodney Dangerfield. As the scene unfolds and it is made apparent that Jack has physically and sexually abused his daughter, the scene is nonetheless shot as a sitcom, complete with a laugh track included at the most sinister moments. The incongruity of that juxtaposition of a very creepy scene with a laugh track layered in was quite troubling to me, and difficult to watch. It is also at that juncture where Tarantino, during his first viewing of Natural Born Killers, supposedly walked out of the movie theater and said he would, “Watch it on cable someday.” Evidently he did not approve of the rewrites or Stone’s interpretation of his original script. Tarantino had even insisted that he be given screen credit for the “story’’ only, when he was made aware of the numerous changes to his original script.
The cast of Natural Born Killers did a great job. Stone said one reason he cast Woody Harrelson was because Woody’s father, hit man Charles Harrelson, infamously assassinated a federal judge in Texas in 1979, and Stone thought there was something in Woody’s genetic makeup that would bring out something extra in the Mickey Knox character. Juliette Lewis was dedicated to the role of Mallory Knox, and it shows in her flawless performance. Robert Downey, Jr. almost steals the show as the TV journalist, Wayne Gale. Tommy Lee Jones gives a rare performance as the cruel, nose-picking prison warden with his crude, instruments of torture. Tom Sizemore rounded out the cast very well playing the famous, memoir-writing lawman that is hired to track down the psychotic, murderous lovers. As we find out, he too is a killer who strangles a prostitute in a motel as he searches for Mickey and Mallory.
There are no heroes it seems in Natural Born Killers. According to Oliver Stone, “Once [Mickey and Mallory] kill, they’ve entered into this world of breaking all the rules. It’s fitting that the filmmaker is also breaking the rules, with them.”
Maybe to some, Natural Born Killers is a sick, controversial movie, unrealistically portraying a sick world. But, as Tommy Lee Jones says in the interview in Chaos Rising, “You don’t have to be a very sophisticated person to know that this is not an exploitation film. This is an art film.”
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Having My Baby Wins Most Ambitious Film Award, or, Four Years of Snowballing Karma
The Blog lives on. We’re on a roll. Having My Baby won the award for Most Ambitious Film at the Columbia Gorge International Film Festival (formerly known as the Washougal International Film Festival) in Vancouver, Washington. Many thanks to the lovely and talented festival founder and director, Breven Angaelica Warren, and her trusted sidekick, Festival Captain, Wes Parker. They treated us very kindly during our stay in their fair city, and we really appreciate it.
Most Ambitious Film, Having My Baby. It has a nice little ring to it. I like it. I suppose I should get an award for Most Megalomaniacal Director, truth be known. I can proudly says, “It’s over, Johnny.” Having My Baby is a tangible commodity. So, I’m living proof you can make an award-winning, feature-length, action-drama film for $80,000 while simultaneously working 40-hour weeks for The Man. However, such sleep deprivation, physical hardship, mental anguish and gravity of will is not recommended for one’s health. It turns you into a “mean man.” Someone who is driven. Someone who will not take “no” for an answer. Like the Terminator, “It will not die!” “Ugh, must make movie, get out of way.” One friend in a polite way told me I was just stupid enough to think I could do it, and ended up doing it. After four years of seat-of-the-pants filmmaking making Having My Baby, I would have to say, I agree.
In the end, I’m proud of Having My Baby. It’s a cool little flick if the story interests you. One thing that has puzzled me however, is that people think Having My Baby is a Christian movie, however, I contend, it only has a fundamentalist Christian character. Sophie is proudly agnostic. As the creator of Blaine and Sophie, I never chose between them or took a side. As the omnipotent creator/writer, I must be totally neutral so that the audience may choose for themselves. Just the facts, ma’am. Having My Baby is an action-drama, human interest, love story. I guess. What do I know? The squares love it. The civilians love it. I love it, though some of it does still make me cringe. Too much karma still. Four years of snowballing karma wasn’t vanquished in a day.
Most Ambitious Film, Having My Baby. It has a nice little ring to it. I like it. I suppose I should get an award for Most Megalomaniacal Director, truth be known. I can proudly says, “It’s over, Johnny.” Having My Baby is a tangible commodity. So, I’m living proof you can make an award-winning, feature-length, action-drama film for $80,000 while simultaneously working 40-hour weeks for The Man. However, such sleep deprivation, physical hardship, mental anguish and gravity of will is not recommended for one’s health. It turns you into a “mean man.” Someone who is driven. Someone who will not take “no” for an answer. Like the Terminator, “It will not die!” “Ugh, must make movie, get out of way.” One friend in a polite way told me I was just stupid enough to think I could do it, and ended up doing it. After four years of seat-of-the-pants filmmaking making Having My Baby, I would have to say, I agree.
In the end, I’m proud of Having My Baby. It’s a cool little flick if the story interests you. One thing that has puzzled me however, is that people think Having My Baby is a Christian movie, however, I contend, it only has a fundamentalist Christian character. Sophie is proudly agnostic. As the creator of Blaine and Sophie, I never chose between them or took a side. As the omnipotent creator/writer, I must be totally neutral so that the audience may choose for themselves. Just the facts, ma’am. Having My Baby is an action-drama, human interest, love story. I guess. What do I know? The squares love it. The civilians love it. I love it, though some of it does still make me cringe. Too much karma still. Four years of snowballing karma wasn’t vanquished in a day.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Watching Hud with My Dad
My pop died of emphysema several years ago, and I've always wished I'd had more time to visit with him. He wasn't around much when I was a youngster. My mom always said, "Your daddy worked hard, but he also played hard." And if you'll pardon my language, my dad was a cross between Archie Bunker and Brando's description of his father in Last Tango in Paris: "He was a super masculine, whore fucker, bar fighter."
My dad was from Tennessee. His name was Hugh L., and the L. was only an initial and didn't stand for anything. Having a middle initial as a substitute for an actual name was evidently a custom in the hills of Tennessee where my dad grew up in the 1930's. There is a common joke there that the people are so poor they can't even afford a full name, and could only afford a middle initial. My dad eventually told everyone the L. stood for Larry, just to get them to shut up about it, I guess. Larry is what my mom called him until his dying day.
My dad was a kind, compassionate man, but he had a rough exterior and was an unrepentant womanizer. Growing up in Chicago in the 1960's, on the very few, rare occasions my dad was home and not working or playing, I was actually able to watch TV with my dad. We couldn't watch any comedies. If I turned it to Get Smart or Hogan's Heroes, he'd say, "Get that shit off there." So I'd have to turn it to Gunsmoke, The Rifleman or Wanted Dead or Alive. Testosterone city. Needless to say I was a bit deficient in the sense of humor department as a child and later in life. What my Dad did like was: he liked beer, he liked women, he liked baseball and he liked country food; food like biscuits and gravy, and wilted mustard greens soaked in bacon bits and hot grease. Cracklings, even, whatever the heck that is. And he liked a good western, too.
The only time he really busted my ass when I was a kid was when I took too long to water the pigs during the heat of the day in the burning hell of a Texas summer, and when I went swimming in a stock tank without permission near a place called Hippie Ridge in Wise County, Texas. But he was always busting my balls about something later in life, in my early twenties especially, when I was a shiftless, lazy, college dropout, Rimbaud wannabe. But, short story long, when I knew the old fucker only had a few years left to live, I loaded the car up with VHS movie cassettes and drove up to Roane County, Tennessee to see him. I tried to take a variety of movies for him to see. Some movies I took I knew he would like, like the Clint Eastwood western, The Unforgiven. (I always get choked up at the end when those prostitutes come out in the rain to see Clint Eastwood ride out of town.) And some movies I took just to mess with his head, like Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me. When the little dwarf in the red room sucks up the corn from a silver spoon in an extreme closeup while the soundtrack plays in reverse, that's about the time my dad said, "Sheeeit, son, get that shit off there." Leave it to David Lynch to blow my dad's mind. That's about the time I hit the eject button and I popped in Hud.
I knew my dad would probably get a stiffy watching Hud, because he was Hud, in so many ways. Ruggedly handsome like Newman, with chiseled features and a confident swagger. I never once heard my dad laugh in his life... seriously... never! I heard him chuckle once or twice, either watching a John Wayne movie or some other western movie that had a brief moment of comedy between scenes of killing dark-skinned people. But, by golly, he sure liked watching Hud! Hud, the drunken, womanizing cowboy. He came pretty darn close to laughing a time or two, especially when Hud was extricating himself from the clutches of a jealous husband. My dad told me of a few such close calls in his life. When my dad was sober he wouldn't have two words to say, but when he was drinking, he was a hillbilly raconteur who would get on a drunken binge and couldn't shut up. I'll withhold some of the scandalous details since there might be women and children about. I think you get the picture.
Hud was adapted from the Larry McMurtry novel, Horseman, Pass By. Hud's younger brother is played by Brandon de Wilde, the kid from Shane as a young man. Larry McMurtry is a life long native of the Wichita Falls area, where my mom and dad and our family lived a time or two. There are some good chapters on the making of Hud in Larry McMurty's book, In a Narrow Grave: Essays on Texas. Released in 1962, Hud is a great movie and a great nostalgia trip for anyone who grew up in Texas. Academy awards went to Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas, and to James Wong Howe for his brilliant cinematography.
I was glad my dad and I got the chance to watch Hud together one of the last times I saw him. It was one of the very few times we ever bonded, as they say. If you could call it that. That's when my dad told me that I was named after a character from the Zane Grey western novel, The Lone Star Ranger, and General Leslie Groves of the Manhattan Project. My mom, who eventually divorced him, had always told me I was named after some of my dad's Air Force buddies. I know my dad wasn't much of a role model, but he was my dad. We don't get to pick them. It's like the genetic lottery. I guess I could have done a lot worse. He was a good man most of the time, except when it came to married women and booze. He never was there for me as a kid, but he always put food on the table. Now I suppose he's up on that great big barstool in the sky.
My dad was from Tennessee. His name was Hugh L., and the L. was only an initial and didn't stand for anything. Having a middle initial as a substitute for an actual name was evidently a custom in the hills of Tennessee where my dad grew up in the 1930's. There is a common joke there that the people are so poor they can't even afford a full name, and could only afford a middle initial. My dad eventually told everyone the L. stood for Larry, just to get them to shut up about it, I guess. Larry is what my mom called him until his dying day.
My dad was a kind, compassionate man, but he had a rough exterior and was an unrepentant womanizer. Growing up in Chicago in the 1960's, on the very few, rare occasions my dad was home and not working or playing, I was actually able to watch TV with my dad. We couldn't watch any comedies. If I turned it to Get Smart or Hogan's Heroes, he'd say, "Get that shit off there." So I'd have to turn it to Gunsmoke, The Rifleman or Wanted Dead or Alive. Testosterone city. Needless to say I was a bit deficient in the sense of humor department as a child and later in life. What my Dad did like was: he liked beer, he liked women, he liked baseball and he liked country food; food like biscuits and gravy, and wilted mustard greens soaked in bacon bits and hot grease. Cracklings, even, whatever the heck that is. And he liked a good western, too.
The only time he really busted my ass when I was a kid was when I took too long to water the pigs during the heat of the day in the burning hell of a Texas summer, and when I went swimming in a stock tank without permission near a place called Hippie Ridge in Wise County, Texas. But he was always busting my balls about something later in life, in my early twenties especially, when I was a shiftless, lazy, college dropout, Rimbaud wannabe. But, short story long, when I knew the old fucker only had a few years left to live, I loaded the car up with VHS movie cassettes and drove up to Roane County, Tennessee to see him. I tried to take a variety of movies for him to see. Some movies I took I knew he would like, like the Clint Eastwood western, The Unforgiven. (I always get choked up at the end when those prostitutes come out in the rain to see Clint Eastwood ride out of town.) And some movies I took just to mess with his head, like Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me. When the little dwarf in the red room sucks up the corn from a silver spoon in an extreme closeup while the soundtrack plays in reverse, that's about the time my dad said, "Sheeeit, son, get that shit off there." Leave it to David Lynch to blow my dad's mind. That's about the time I hit the eject button and I popped in Hud.
I knew my dad would probably get a stiffy watching Hud, because he was Hud, in so many ways. Ruggedly handsome like Newman, with chiseled features and a confident swagger. I never once heard my dad laugh in his life... seriously... never! I heard him chuckle once or twice, either watching a John Wayne movie or some other western movie that had a brief moment of comedy between scenes of killing dark-skinned people. But, by golly, he sure liked watching Hud! Hud, the drunken, womanizing cowboy. He came pretty darn close to laughing a time or two, especially when Hud was extricating himself from the clutches of a jealous husband. My dad told me of a few such close calls in his life. When my dad was sober he wouldn't have two words to say, but when he was drinking, he was a hillbilly raconteur who would get on a drunken binge and couldn't shut up. I'll withhold some of the scandalous details since there might be women and children about. I think you get the picture.
Hud was adapted from the Larry McMurtry novel, Horseman, Pass By. Hud's younger brother is played by Brandon de Wilde, the kid from Shane as a young man. Larry McMurtry is a life long native of the Wichita Falls area, where my mom and dad and our family lived a time or two. There are some good chapters on the making of Hud in Larry McMurty's book, In a Narrow Grave: Essays on Texas. Released in 1962, Hud is a great movie and a great nostalgia trip for anyone who grew up in Texas. Academy awards went to Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas, and to James Wong Howe for his brilliant cinematography.
I was glad my dad and I got the chance to watch Hud together one of the last times I saw him. It was one of the very few times we ever bonded, as they say. If you could call it that. That's when my dad told me that I was named after a character from the Zane Grey western novel, The Lone Star Ranger, and General Leslie Groves of the Manhattan Project. My mom, who eventually divorced him, had always told me I was named after some of my dad's Air Force buddies. I know my dad wasn't much of a role model, but he was my dad. We don't get to pick them. It's like the genetic lottery. I guess I could have done a lot worse. He was a good man most of the time, except when it came to married women and booze. He never was there for me as a kid, but he always put food on the table. Now I suppose he's up on that great big barstool in the sky.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Movie Jonesing and DVD Buying Escapades
I've been busier than a one-armed paper hanger (no offense to one-armed paper hangers) and haven't had time to do this blog up proper, as they might say. I haven't had time to work on my screenplay in progress, Jacksboro Highway. I haven't had time to write some freelance stuff I've had notes on for some time (one about Depression era babies, the other about international arms trafficking regulations), and I haven't had much time for anything except working for The Man.
But I have squeezed in some movie watching time, and this is purportedly a movie blog, or so I've been lead to believe. What's the use of having a blog if one doesn't record inane ruminations in it, right? So this will be a recent update in which I write about the DVDs I've been lucky enough to purchase and find the time to watch. Bored already, right?
I watched the special edition DVD of Alan Parker's, Angel Heart. It had some great extras, including interviews with Mickey Rourke. The movie is one of the greatest gumshoe whodunits ever put to cellulose, and a terrific period piece. I love the scenes in New Orleans. It is easily Mickey Rourke's finest performance, playing alongside a champ like De Niro. Good stuff! I thought Lisa Bonet did a great job, too.
On to Raging Bull, the 2-Disc DVD Collector's Set. True cinema at its finest. Another period piece that will knock your block off. The boxing movie that changed my mind about boxing movies. And who knew? Cathy Moriarty was only sixteen when she was cast alongside Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci. This Collector's Set is so great. Three audio commentaries with Scorcese, Schoonmaker, Irwin Winkler and Jake La Motta. Lots of featurettes about the making-of. For just pure filmmaking savvy, this is Scorcese's best movie ever, hands down, and Robert De Niro's finest performance ever. Absolutely brilliant, all of it!
Scarface... the 2-Disc Platinum Edition... oodles and oodles of extras, but unfortunately no director's or other commentary. Just featurettes, interviews, making-of extras and delected scenes.
The script for the 80's Scarface remake was written by Oliver Stone in France, while he kicked a coke habit. In Miami and Latin America, he hung out with drug lords and law enforcement personnel as he researched the illicit drug trade. It's a great, violent movie, with lots of bullets and lots of babes, and a true, gangster classic. The Platinum Edition has great interviews with Oliver Stone, director, Brian De Palma, and producer, Martin Bregman. Scarface is a masterpiece and cult classic in every sense of the word. The movie was dedicated to Howard Hawks and Ben Hecht who directed and wrote the original 1932 Scarface.
I watched to 2008 released 30th Anniversity Edition of Midnight Express, the movie for which Oliver Stone won his first academy award for best adapted screenplay, and also another Alan Parker movie. (One of my all time favorite movies by Alan Parker is Pink Floyd, The Wall.) This edition has lots of extras, including a great commentary by Alan Parker and interviews with Oliver Stone. Midnight Express is a great prison movie, though painful to watch at times. Actor Brad Davis is amazingly believable as the young American with a hankering for some hashish.
So, that's been some of my DVD buying escapades and movie watching pleasure. I love the director's commentaries and featurettes on anniversary and special edition DVDs. Making movies can be such a weird adventure! Hearing the anecdotal stories behind the scenes is lots of fun for aspiring filmmakers and civilians alike.
But I have squeezed in some movie watching time, and this is purportedly a movie blog, or so I've been lead to believe. What's the use of having a blog if one doesn't record inane ruminations in it, right? So this will be a recent update in which I write about the DVDs I've been lucky enough to purchase and find the time to watch. Bored already, right?
I watched the special edition DVD of Alan Parker's, Angel Heart. It had some great extras, including interviews with Mickey Rourke. The movie is one of the greatest gumshoe whodunits ever put to cellulose, and a terrific period piece. I love the scenes in New Orleans. It is easily Mickey Rourke's finest performance, playing alongside a champ like De Niro. Good stuff! I thought Lisa Bonet did a great job, too.
On to Raging Bull, the 2-Disc DVD Collector's Set. True cinema at its finest. Another period piece that will knock your block off. The boxing movie that changed my mind about boxing movies. And who knew? Cathy Moriarty was only sixteen when she was cast alongside Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci. This Collector's Set is so great. Three audio commentaries with Scorcese, Schoonmaker, Irwin Winkler and Jake La Motta. Lots of featurettes about the making-of. For just pure filmmaking savvy, this is Scorcese's best movie ever, hands down, and Robert De Niro's finest performance ever. Absolutely brilliant, all of it!
Scarface... the 2-Disc Platinum Edition... oodles and oodles of extras, but unfortunately no director's or other commentary. Just featurettes, interviews, making-of extras and delected scenes.
The script for the 80's Scarface remake was written by Oliver Stone in France, while he kicked a coke habit. In Miami and Latin America, he hung out with drug lords and law enforcement personnel as he researched the illicit drug trade. It's a great, violent movie, with lots of bullets and lots of babes, and a true, gangster classic. The Platinum Edition has great interviews with Oliver Stone, director, Brian De Palma, and producer, Martin Bregman. Scarface is a masterpiece and cult classic in every sense of the word. The movie was dedicated to Howard Hawks and Ben Hecht who directed and wrote the original 1932 Scarface.
I watched to 2008 released 30th Anniversity Edition of Midnight Express, the movie for which Oliver Stone won his first academy award for best adapted screenplay, and also another Alan Parker movie. (One of my all time favorite movies by Alan Parker is Pink Floyd, The Wall.) This edition has lots of extras, including a great commentary by Alan Parker and interviews with Oliver Stone. Midnight Express is a great prison movie, though painful to watch at times. Actor Brad Davis is amazingly believable as the young American with a hankering for some hashish.
So, that's been some of my DVD buying escapades and movie watching pleasure. I love the director's commentaries and featurettes on anniversary and special edition DVDs. Making movies can be such a weird adventure! Hearing the anecdotal stories behind the scenes is lots of fun for aspiring filmmakers and civilians alike.
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