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| Elvira/Erwin |
| 06.25.04 (12:04 pm) [edit] |
[url=http://www.fassbinderfoundati...]Fassbinder's[/url] [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt00777...]"In a Year with 13 Moons"[/url] arrived from Netflix yesterday. I've attempted to sit through [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt00729...]"Fox and His Friends"[/url] and [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt00682...]"The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant,"[/url] resisted my urge to fast-forward (which I eventually did). Neither films captured my attention nor explained to me why this German queer auteur is as highly regarded as any of the French New Wavers. He was fascinated with marginalized characters, society outcasts like hustlers and alcoholics or self-absorbed ego-maniacs who burst into over-dramatic rants on why life is scheisse and everything is meaningless. Then it all ends with some random acts of violence. Or a suicide. Or both.
Ultimately, to paraphrase The Beatles in much simpler terms (and less hysterical ramblings in German), all they need is love. Just like the rest of us.
The [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt02113...]one[/url] Fassbinder piece that I really enjoyed was directed by François Ozon, who in retrospect, managed to interpret the essence of his creations in a more cinematically accessible way.
I wanted to give Rainer another chance when I read this [url=http://www.filmref.com/direct...]review[/url] , but I was delighted to find that the DVD contained a 15-minute intro by the self-professed "Fassbinder Freak" - Richard Linklater.
He talked about how his enthusiasm with the filmmaker came about, how his first time watching a Fassbinder film was also received with boredom and confusion. Appreciation came with maturity, and before long, he caught up with every single work he could get hold of (including the 15-hour [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt00801...]"Berlin Alexanderplatz"[/url]), and found that the bleakness of many of these films rejuvenated his views on life.
With my renewed interest, I began to watch "13 Moons." The story begins with the lead character, Elvira, cruising a park for some manly affection. As she proceeds to make-out with a pick-up (accompanied with extreme close-ups of what seems like an armpit being licked), her crotch is fondled, then swiftly pushed away by her companion.
You see, Elvira used to be Erwin, and Erwin went through the chop-chop to become Elvira because of her undying love for Christoph, her former lover. Now a rejected transsexual, she occassionally dresses up as a man to score some male-to-male action, only to be tranny-bashed by a fag once it's revealed her wee-wee's missing.
I made it through the first half an hour without reaching for the remote, but I still didn't quite get it. In attempts to humanize these seemingly unlikable characters, there were also many nonsensical ramblings and self- destructive behavior.
Nonetheless, I'm intrigued. How did someone like Fassbinder achieved such notorious respectability? He was openly gay and promiscious, addicted to drugs (he died ODing sleeping pills and cocaine) and abused his lovers. I can't imagine how such personality traits were taken in the 60s-70s (although I can also imagine people saying, [i]"Oh, that Fassbinder is so brilliant! He beat his boyfriend's face to a pulp and did three hits of acid afterwards to come up with this ingenious idea of a film!"). [/i] His last film, [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt00845...]"Querelle,"[/url] was filled with homoerotic imagery and borderline pornography, but you bring his name up to serious film critics and they'll cream with delight, going on and on about how great he was.
It is interesting though, to see how times have changed. In some respects, the progression of the gay movement may have caused some digressions in the arts. We deal with homosexuality in film today and there's always a tendency to PC-ing it, or rather, Disney-fying it. Suddenly, our edge is gone. Our shock value has diminished. The struggles between life and death, living on the verge of society...they no longer have the same intensity of urgency.
I suppose it is a good thing that the gay community is more and more integrated into our daily lives, and maybe that's why someone from a post-gay-angst generation like me would have a difficult time understanding Fassbinder. Maybe I'm just blindsided by his characters' sexuality and am turned off because I'm unable to relate, when the reality is, film afficiados like Linklater have been progressive enough to watch his stuff purely on a human condition level, and accept the fact that we're all the same, that we all suffer, that we all love and fuck and die.
And really, those are some of the elements that have gone into some of the finest art in the world. Perhaps that's how Fassbinder is identified. After all, one of the many privileges of being a filmmaker is the ability to speak from the heart, the courage to express an opinion, no matter how unpopular it is. I don't think there's enough of us out there who's actively and consistently pursuing that in our work. I guess that's why Fassbinder is considered such a rarity.
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| Y'all come back now! |
| 06.22.04 (11:09 am) [edit] |
[i]"If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed, but...who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt."[/i]
Watching [url=http://imdb.com/title/tt01124...]"Before Sunrise"[/url] right before [url=http://wip.warnerbros.com/bef...]"Before Sunset"[/url] is not only logical, but absolutely essential. It's been more than five years since I saw the original and I've forgotten how timeless and introspective it was. There's something very validating about watching characters who can express the random thoughts you've had with such humor and eloquence, that it makes you feel less alone and more alive.
~
Mye is finally making her move to the Big Apple and I'm once again confronted by my love/hate relationship with the Lone Star. It seems like more and more people around me have come to the realization that their dreams can never be more than a dream if they continue to live here (Dallas, to be more specific). Seeing them taking that big leap provokes both hope and envy (or is it jealousy?) in me. I'm always encouraging, generous with well wishes like "I know you'll make it," but telling myself that I'll be the one who won't if I stayed.
On the other hand, some of my friends who've moved ended up struggling so hard with their daily existence that they neglect their initial intentions of living there. I speak to them every now and then, and I hear that tone in their voices, like innocence tainted, ambitions doubted. Suddenly, it's about finding an apartment they could afford, or trying so hard to land a meaningless gig that would pay enough for two weeks of grocery. Going to the movies is a luxury. Doing anything is a hassle as long as dollars are involved.
Then I force myself to examine my current condition and I'm reminded that I'm not just standing still. I'm not just trying to survive. I'm doing stuff. I finished a new film! I wrote new scripts! I try to inspire myself each and every day!
I won't live here for the rest of my life, as I will ultimately be unhappy. In the meantime, there's something about living in Texas that builds character, that sharpens the edge to one's personality. Not in an ignorant arrogance a là Bush manner, but something that nurtures a distinguished state of mind. Somehow, the mundaneness of being (or having been) here inspires great art. Terrence Malick is a fine example. And then there's Todd Oldham, Willie Nelson, Tom Ford, Wes Anderson and of course, Richard Linklater.
Say what you will about Texas, but once you've lived here, you can go anywhere else in the world and there will always be a part of Texan in you. Whether that's good or bad is a matter of subjectivity. I never in my wildest dreams would ever think I could end up here, but for now, I don't regret it. I've met the most wonderful friends, I've had many meaningful experiences. Perhaps in the future, I could look back at my days here like a recollection of childhood memories, and I shall recognize that they've contributed much to who I am then.
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| Pair like two skins |
| 06.17.04 (4:37 pm) [edit] |
[url=http://www.road-dog-productio...]David[/url] let me borrowed his copy of Annie Proulx's "Close Range - Wyoming Stories" this afternoon, which subseqently caused me to juggle my mundane day chores with the captivating thirty pages of "Brokeback Mountain."
[i]Fuck.[/i] I should've read it at home in one sitting instead. Constant interruptions prevented me from emoting one-hundred percent, but I still couldn't hold back my tears anyway. There's a paragraph that is so beautifully written, it literally breaks and mends your heart at the same time:
[i]What Jack remembered and craved in a way he could neither help nor understand was the time that distant summer on Brokeback when Ennis had come up behind him and pulled him close, the silent embrace satisfying some shared and sexless hunger.
That dozy embrace solidified in his memory as the single moment of artless, charmed happiness in their separate and difficult lives. Nothing marred it, even the knowledge that Ennis would not then embrace him face to face because he did not want to see nor feel that it was Jack he held. And maybe, he thought, they'd never got much farther than that.
Let be, let be. [/i]
Then there's the ending. And what an ending it is.
Which brings me to the upcoming film. Forget Heath and Jake. I'm more excited by the fact that not only is Ang Lee directing, but [url=http://www.imdb.com/name/nm00...]Rodrigo Prieto[/url] is lensing.
Goddamn - it'll be so fucking beautiful.
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| Acceptance through the backdoor |
| 06.16.04 (7:59 pm) [edit] |
Two hetero friends revealed to me that they've had anal intercourse with their spouses.
I felt accepted, like it's finally okay for me or anyone to take it up the ass.
~
The initial idea of "DEADROOM" came upon me three months after shooting "Happy Birthday." I was attempting to flesh out the basic premise of a conversation between the living and the dead, wondering if it was truly a viable concept.
Then I saw Hirokazu Kore-Eda's [url=http://207.136.67.23/film/dvd...]"After Life."[/url]
The film gave me a huge boost of assurance, proving that believablity in a far-fetched plot is ultimately achieved when its core is human.
His new film, "Nobody Knows" had a lukewarm response in Cannes but the [url=http://www.daremoshiranai.com...]trailer[/url] has a strangely hypnotic effect, which is further enhanced if you don't understand a word of Japanese.
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| Jesus still loves me |
| 06.13.04 (9:20 am) [edit] |
Friday night was our cast/crew/family/friends/ investors screening of "DEADROOM" at the [url=http://www.dm-art.org/]DMA[/url]. It was the very first time we're showing the film to an audience.
We got there about a quarter to nine, having to walk around the building from our parking spot to the main entrance because all the other ones were locked. I wasn't nervous. I don't think the other guys were either. It was just a matter of sitting back and seeing the fruits of our labor, I suppose. There was also a silent acknowledgement that the film is what it is - love it or hate it, we're not changing it.
About 80 people showed up, many from my office, which resulted in me politely hugging some I wasn't even well acquainted with. I guess I was moved enough by their support. Some body contact was my token of appreciation. I'm such a prostitute.
And then, [i]he[/i] greeted me, which was simultaneously surprising and shocking.
"Oh...[i]hi!"[/i] I exclaimed, quickly hiding my initial distaste.
We shook hands and talked. My social gears were shifted to plastic but polite mode.
"Is your wife here?" I asked.
"No. She's at home. I told her what the film's about and she didn't feel like seeing it."
[i]Ugh. How typical.[/i] Then,
"She's pregnant."
For a second there, I was so disgusted by her lack of support that I totally forgot that I should be following his announcement with a congratulations, which still arrived one second too late.
"Congratulations!"
There was a hint of something that went wrong with her, and it seemed like he didn't want to get into it. Which was fine, my mood didn't allow my curiousity to ask more questions anyway.
Shortly after, I had to move away to another colleague waving at me. Our brief catching-up was abruptly ended. I didn't feel good about it, my behavior or his presence. It forced me to examine issues I really didn't want to delve into that night:
[i]I didn't invite you - why are you here? You never showed up for our previous screenings, and we worked our asses off on yours! What does this all mean? That all is forgotten and we should just quietly make up? And I don't appreciate your initiations of getting-together and leaving me hanging afterwards. Or when you call and you need something from me. Or when my 10-year-old headphones were broken in your set and you never offered to replace it. Or the simple fact that we were asking for donations to our film and you gave zero. What's the problem here? Your lack of courtesy or my abundance of sensitivity? Again, why are you here?![/i]
Meanwhile, I was continuing my rounds of greeting, smiling and thanking.
Right before our film started, James went to the podium to make a short speech, expressing our appreciation for those involved, and unbeknowst to me, our opinion of our Commander-in-Chief's intelligence.
"BOO!!!" A minority of the audience screamed.
Michael Moore at the Oscars, all over again. [i]Please James, it's time to crack one of your funny jokes. Or do one of your hysterical voices. Or fart - that's it! Those hard, bullet-ish ones![/i]
And I searched the crowd with my eyes, trying to locate Mrs. S.
Mrs. S is a Republican. She adores our President. He can do no wrong. Her husband is a Christian folk/pop singer. She runs a teen bible-study group.
And I'm very fond of her.
You see, Mrs. S is the type of conservative who recognizes that we're all different. That we're entitled to our opinions. That we're all deserving of equal respect. Unlike most people who share her beliefs, Mrs. S never forces her "agenda" on me. Plus, she watches "The West Wing" and "Will & Grace" religiously.
She also attended a screening of "Happy Birthday" and donated money to "DEADROOM." Her friendship and loyalty is strictly non-partisan and non-judgemental.
That's what I call a true Christ-loving, conservative Republican. WWJD? Well, whatever Mrs. S does.
When James said what he said (which I still find highly amusing), I couldn't help but feel for Mrs. S. She didn't need to be insulted like that, as she never insulted me before. We had an understanding of our differences, but we coexisted and accepted each other without any qualms.
I can only ask myself: how would I feel if I attended an event to lend my sincere support but am subjected to the host's pro-Bush stance?
Nevertheless, the audience laughed and cheered and clapped at the end. We got plenty of kudos. I looked at the guys and I thought:
[i]This is a good start, the beginning of their validation. There will be more to come, fellas. Just wait. You won't know what hit you until you experience a packed festival screening and none of those people are obligated to tell you nice things. But when they do, and they laugh, and they cheer, and they clap...you'll know. [/i]
My parental instincts kicked in again and I felt like a proud papa.
[i]He[/i] came up to me again before departing and told me how much he loved the film. I wanted to forgive him, I wanted to give him another chance to redeem himself. But frankly, I was afraid. Afraid of being dissapointed again. Afraid of being figuratively spat in my face again. I wanted to say, "Listen...I'm an unconvincing fake - let's have lunch sometime. We need to talk."
We need to reconcile. Instead, I shook his hand and he left.
~
There was an after-party at the Expo Lounge and I physically felt our camaraderie for the first time. It was right before I left, a group hug with me and James and David. I was looking for Nick, but he wasn't around. Maybe next time.
~
[url=http://www.cupcakekitchen.com...]Steven[/url], in his best intentions, wasn't able to attend our screening. He received a last-minute order from some richie who has a fountain in her front-yard.
I wrote a press release for his biz a couple of months ago, and since then, he has gotten much exposure and he's been swamped with orders, forcing him to start his days baking at 4AM.
For a while, I was wondering if he wasn't acknowledging my favor (hmm...I'm beginning to see a pattern here). I wasn't expecting to get paid of course. I would've been totally cool with a box of free cupcakes, but so far - nothing.
He left me a message yesterday morning:
"Hey...just wanted to see if you have some time this afternoon. Got something I wanna show you."
We met up at Katy Trail, did our walk and talk.
"So what's this thing you wanna show me?"
"You'll see."
"What is it?"
[i]"You'll see!"[/i]
[i]"God - what the fuck is it? Tell me!"[/i]
[i]"Gurl! You're being neurotic!"[/i]
I followed him to his car, where he was gonna give me a ride home.
"Here you go."
It was a yellow envelope, which contained a thank-you card, and...
"Wow...gift certificates for [url=http://www.angelikafilmcenter...]The Angelika[/url]!"
"$50 worth," he emphasized.
He pulled up to my place and just when I was about to get off,
"Thanks, Steven."
"I wanted to show you my appreciation."
"Well, I appreciate that. I'm glad it worked out."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Let me give you a hug."
He awkwardly declined.
Steven's probably the only gay friend that I have managed to know this long without exhanging any touchy-feely gestures. No muah-muah on cheeks or the prerequisite embraces.
"Oh, come on."
He gave in. It was still sorta awkwardly executed (it was also done in a car), but nonetheless, genuine enough.
That night, his gift took Jerry and I to a [url=http://www.sonyclassics.com/b...]double[/url]-[url=http://www.savedmovie.com/]feature[/url] .
All this emotional roller-coaster in the past 24 hours made me cry at any moments that hint at the slightest sense of sentimentality: Mario addressing Melvin as dad for the first time while tearfully pledging that he needs to get his faltering eye examined and gay Dean showing up at his prom with his other half, proclaming to Pastor Skip: "I know that in my heart that Jesus still loves me!"
[i]Amen.[/i]
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| Masturbation doesn't cause blindness |
| 06.07.04 (8:12 pm) [edit] |
Been staying off the blog lately due to a lingering foul mood. Only had time to reflect and recollect my thoughts on my way home from work today.
We're hitting the busy season in the office and stress level is high. People are abrasive and tension's in the air. I'm not sure if that’s an indirect influence on my psyche but I'm sure it’s not making me any more pleasant. Meanwhile, I've been making VHS dubs of "DEADROOM" for our festival applications. Sometime last week, I noticed something odd with the closing credits: they seemed unclear and hard to read.
I addressed my concern to the fellas, but what I initially thought would be a simple fix-it decision became something resembling a debate for introverts: things we wouldn't necessarily say in person but would write in ferocious tenacity in e-mails. I can't quite remember the full details of our back-and-forth correspondence anymore, but I do remember at some point, I stood in front of my television monitor, watching names rolling an inch away from my face and asking myself: [i]Have I picked up a crack habit I’m not aware of? Or have my adolescent wanks finally caught up with me, slowly causing the blur visions that I've been warned of?[/i]
I couldn’t figure out where their resistance came from, when I felt like I was just striving for a common good, making sure we won’t fall flat on our faces. But there was a point where I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. I wasn’t winning the case. Maybe our egos stepped in and created havoc, but by then, I had already thought about giving up.
[i]Stop giving a shit. Just settle for second. Quit being such an anal little bitch because you’re driving everyone nuts. [/i]
For a second time, I asked Jerry: “Can you look at this again and tell me I’m not going crazy?”
The first time around, I dragged him to the TV and screened the end section without telling him what to look for.
“Just tell me if you see anything funny.”
The rolling credits began…
“I can’t read it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t read it.”
“You mean you can see it but it’s hard to read, right?”
“No – I mean, I CANNOT read it.”
[i]Spank away![/i]
“Are you screening this on Friday?”
“Yeah, for now, this is what we’re screening.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s an insult to all these people if they can’t read their names?”
On Sunday evening, the guys were planning to catch Guy Maddin's [url=http://www.saddestmusic.com]latest[/url] and will swing by my pad to see for themselves what this lunatic Chinese’s been ranting about. I wanted to go see the flick too, so I was hoping that by then, we would have had a good laugh about all the unnecessary online drama that occurred.
Hours went by and I didn’t hear from them. Other than my last phone call with David that they’ll give me a buzz when they’re heading out my way.
I assumed they couldn’t make it out in time so the plan was cancelled.
This morning, I spoke to James and he mentioned that they caught the film right before it started. Also, David will correct the credits and they didn’t need to look at the problem that I’ve been obsessing over for the past 48 hours.
I was relief, but then my high-school flashbacks occurred: memories of the overweight me being dissed by my pals for doing things they disapproved of. [i]You shall eat by yourself in the cafeteria! You shall not look at us in the hallway! You shall not go to the movies with us![/i]
So I thought: [i]was I snubbed?[/i]
That would be ludicrous. People don’t do that shit in their twenties. Nevertheless, my state of mind at that time refused to entertain any form of rationality.
At an emotional peak that lasted no longer than a minute, I wrote James a short e-mail. It was one of those double-meaning ones when I was expressing my disappointment but still wanted to come across like I was totally cool with it. [i]No biggie – I’m sure it’s just a miscommunication. Yes, my feelings were hurt, but it’s okay! [/i]
In other words, it was exactly something I would’ve done in high school.
I missed James’ phone call to me a while later, as I was busy taking a dump in the toilet, taking advantage of every inch of aggression I could express while pushing my stinko out.
[i]Urgh…uurggghhh…UUU URRRRGGGGHHHHH!!![/i]
His message was a sincere apology that suddenly made me feel terribly embarrassed by my immaturity. Of course it was a miscommunication. Of course it wasn’t a biggie. You stupid, silly queen.
Our first screening in front of an audience is four days away. I would hate to experience it with the slightest resentment amongst ourselves. Maybe it’s getting to us - the overwhelming sensation of reaching the very ending line of an accomplishment, which will soon be the beginning of an even more challenging next level. Perhaps we’re a little scared, a little excited, a little antsy of things to come.
A cliché lesson is to tell myself to take this day by day. For now, that sounds like an awfully comforting advice.
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| Goodbye Mr. Cyst |
| 06.02.04 (9:54 am) [edit] |
My 10-year-old friend left me yesterday.
I didn't get to wish it farewell, but I'd imagine it would look something like [url=http://www.entusa.com/images/...]this[/url].
I'm currently feeling sore around my neck and popping pain-killers. It's still not as bad as last night, where I was nauseous every fifteen minutes (a side-effect from the anesthesia). I can only imagine what it's like to be recovering from a transplant or even staying at the hospital for an extensive period of time. I'm grateful my first time under the knife isn't anything more than a one-inch cut.
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