What inspires art?
What inspires artists? At what
point does one look at something and say: “Oh, yeah, I’m inspired.” At one point does one recognize something in
something else and have that speak to them?
I remember going to see “Raiders of the Lost Ark” on opening
night at the Northgate Theatre (now closed).
It was the last day of school, I had no idea what we were going to go
see, I really had no concept of even what the idea was. Sure, I had seen maybe an ad, or two, but
nothing sort of struck me as to plot, genre, story-line. My friend Nathan and I were going in flying
blind.
Great movie!! Sequels, well....
The Northgate theatre had two levels, too, kinda. It wasn’t so much that it had a balcony, it
just had an upper tier that you walked up a few steps and it was a good four
feet higher than the section below. Why
is that I remember that we sat in the front row of those seats – with
unobstructed view, no heads in front of us – but can’t remember what I had for
lunch last Wednesday. You see, these
moments, they kind of kick you in the teeth.
When I walked out of the theatre two hours later I was
inspired. I had witnessed, probably for
the 1000th time, what film could be.
What great story-telling could do.
What worlds you could create. And
I was inspired. Not to attempt to
recreate what I just witnessed, that would be impossible in a lot of ways, but
to just...create.
Still, at this point, though, I was a novel writer. A poet.
An AUTHOR. And a damn bad one at
that. As my writing shifted towards
screenwriting, though, I became a bit, how shall we say it: jaded.
The idea of story to script to screen seemed farther and farther out of
my grasp. And then layers of reality
creep in around that: “You’re not good
enough.” “The story isn’t structured
properly.” “Too many pages.” “Wrong font.”
“Who’s the protagonist, antagonist?”
“What about the b-story?” “You
have to live in Los Angeles.” “You have
to have an agent.” “You have to have a
manager.” “It’s boring.” “It’s too expensive.” “No one will make that.” “What’s the pitch?”
Scary place. Asks too many questions.
And that’s when I began to be inspired by crap.
When Nicholas was entering another one of his many talented
stages – this time drawing – I pulled out a book of collected works of Norman
Rockwell. I loves me some Norman
Rockwell. As many people may call him a
sell-out or pap or worse...the paintings that Rockwell did were magical to me
in their nuance, detail and poignancy.
They SPOKE to me.
Great detail. Amazing work. Wonderful story-telling.
Showing Nicholas some wonderful paintings, they spoke to
HIM, too. He was equally impressed, if
not more so, of what Rockwell was able to do.
But Nick’s response was one of:
“Look at the way he drew hands. I
could never draw hands that way.” It was
awe tinged with defeat. Almost: “Why bother to draw at all, when I could
never draw hands like Rockwell?” Nick
has gone on to do all sorts of wonderful great drawings and, no, he doesn’t try
to be Rockwell. Who could?
Nick's Art
A few weeks ago, a friend on Facebook posted that he needed
to be inspired, so he was going to sit down and watch the classic film “The
Godfather.” I responded back that I get
inspired by crap.
Great movie. Great cast. Great director.
Let me ‘splain.
When it comes to film (and, I’m sure, other mediums) a lot
of crap gets made. Some of it is
expensive repulsive crap and some of it is bare-bones down-and-dirty repulsive
crap. But...it’s crap, nonetheless. And somehow, someway, by hook or by crook, it
got made and it got distributed.
All those nagging questions above that seep into my brain,
all those that say that I’m not good enough, I can’t accomplish it, that it
won’t work, shouldn’t work, couldn’t work – you only have to look as far as a
package of films that have fallen into the public domain or watch an episode of
“The Best of the Worst” by Red Letter Media and say to yourself: “Hell, I can do better than that.” Or, “Hell, I can write better than
that.” Or, “Hell, I can act better than
that.”
Creative reviews of films. Sometimes language not appropriate.
In the 24 hours after watching the Academy Awards, all those
questions, those nagging, annoying, persistent questions rise again. I’ve written about the Post Award Show Blues
before. It’s simply where I’m seeing in
4 hours of glorious self congratulatory flimflammery where I want to be,
compared to where I am now (“You’ll never make it”). Four hours of the wealthy and beautiful patting
each other on the back (“You’re too old!”
“You’re not good enough!”). Four
hours of attention and notoriety and talent and skill and excellence (“Who’s
the protagonist?” “What’s your
b-story?” “Is there a character arc?”). Four hours of looking at Rockwell’s hands.
I mean, seriously, look at the HANDS!!
And all this would be muse destructive, if it weren’t for
the crap. All this would destroy my
writing soul, if it weren’t for the crap.
All this would be pointless, if it weren’t for the crap.
Tarantino. I've liked some of his films. Disliked others. So sue me.
Director Quentin Tarantino once said that you have to
respect every filmmaker for whatever film they make, as bad as it is, because
the filmmaker got it made. They spent
the time and energy and money and power and persuasion to get it made. “The Room” is a cinematic masterpiece when
compared to something like “Birdemic.”
And more low-budget filmmakers get churned out every day with iphone in
hand and the scribbling of something that resembles a script.
Youtube is the bee hive of slap-dash, make-it-on-the-run,
get it out there quickly, see what people think, “I hope it goes viral!”
filmmakers. I’m not talking about
them. I’m talking about people who step
up to the plate of filmmaking and see it for what it is: A challenge to create something and then,
send it out to the masses (or figure out a way to do so). And I’m talking about those willing to sit
down and make a feature length film. A
full-on production. Not 15 minutes of
your cat playing with a laser pointer.
The respect I have for filmmakers runs deep, considering
that I’m one myself. But I also found
far more inspiration in a film like “Birdemic” than I find in a film like
“Titanic.” (And, please do not take this
as a recommendation for “Birdemic” – it’s crap, crap, crappity crap. It’s not even GOOD crap like “The Room.”)
Please. Don't bother. It's terrible. Trust me..
But...if a completely unredeemable film like “Birdemic” can
get made and distributed. So can
mine. If people want to invest in films
like “Robot Monster” or “They Saved Hitler’s Brain” – then maybe I can find
investors for mine.
Classically bad...in a really good inspiring way.
If my hero Roger
Corman can make an amazingly stunning amount of films all around their budget
or time frame (“Little Shop of Horrors” was made in three days) than so can
I. I just have to do it.
Yeah, that's right. I respect this guy so much, he's not even in my dead pool.
There’s another point to watching crap.
Besides the obvious differences of films like “Avatar” and “Titanic”
and “Lincoln” and anything with a budget over $20,000,000 – is that watching
crap is a learning experience. You see,
blatantly on screen, how weirdly shots are set up. How bad some amateur acting can be. How the lighting makes everyone look the
same. How important sound is. Let me repeat: HOW IMPORTANT SOUND IS!
What I learn in watching big budget films is: “How long did it take them to set up that
shot?” “Did they really need a crane?” “Man, the lighting effect is great, I wonder
if they did that in post production?” “Those
clouds aren’t really there.” What I
learn is that big budgets get you lots and lots of toys to play with. What I learn when I watch low-budget crap is
that you get three toys to play with and two are broken. Go for it!
I’ve talked about love of Public Domain films in a previous
blog and it seems weird to think that one might get inspired by crappy films
done on the cheap with bad acting, bad directing and bad everything else. But they got made. And if they can get made, well then, so can
mine.
Rockwell's actual hands....in bronze...I assume....
